What If
by Lady Etiquette
Summary: Re-imagining of Season 2, episode 1...It's 1915 and Matthew visits Downton, and Mary, a year after their broken engagement, as he leaves for France. Combines Canon with AU. Thank you to Julian Fellowes for these lovely characters!
1. Chapter 1

Downton Station – 1915

Dressed in his uniform and khaki top coat, Matthew walked alone through the quiet village of Downton, from Crawley House to the train depot. The early morning sunrise was barely a glimmer and the town still slept. He smiled at how, so far from the frontlines of the war, a part of England, his home, could still sleep in a quiet slumber on a lazy morning. At the station, he walked along the train platform, steam billowing around his brown leather cavalry boots, reading the numbers of the passenger cars. In the distance, through the venting steam in front him, he could make out the figure of a woman. He was surprised at the notion of a female traveler at this early hour, and then almost stopped in his tracks when he could see who it was…_Mary._

She stood in a red suit and hat, which she had worn knowing it was his favorite color on her—he had confided in her as much the night he had proposed a year earlier. She fiddled with the purse in her hands and glanced up to see him walking towards her. She read the surprised look on his face and began walking to meet him. She felt self conscious and clutched her pure tighter. "Don't worry, I haven't come to undo your good work from the other evening."

"You must have been up before the servants." He teased her happily, greeting her with a slightly astonished smile.

"They were rather surprised to see me." She gave as good as she got. She changed the subject in a cheerful tone, rummaging around in her purse. "I wanted to give you this." She said pulling a small object out of her handbag. "It's my lucky charm. I've had it always. So you must promise to bring it back, without a scratch." She smiled ruefully.

Matthew looked down and saw that she held a small toy, a stuffed dachshund, in the palm of her hand. It was a child's toy that obviously was precious to her. He was touched and carefully accepted it with a gloved hand. "Won't you need it?"

She smiled at him. "Not as much as you." As she looked up at him she saw the blue depths of his eyes from under the khaki bill of his officer's cap. His eyes seemed to bore right through her. "So look after it, please."

He smiled reassuringly. "I'll try not to be a hero if that what's you're afraid of."

She shook her head gently, still smiling. "Just come back, safe and sound." She watched as he tucked the little pup in to the pocket of his top coat. She needed to change the subject for both their sakes. "Did you have a happy time yesterday? Was your lady friend able to join you?"

He glanced down bashfully and shrugged. "I'm afraid that's over and done with, so Mother and I had luncheon in Ripon and spent the day together."

Mary crossed her hands in front of her. "I can imagine cousin Isobel wasn't entirely disappointed to have you all to herself."

He sighed and nodded. "I suppose. We had quite a lovely day." A few passengers appeared and began finding their cars. A whistle blew from the other side of the platform. His expression was warm and tender. Another whistle blew, drawing his attention. He turned back around to Mary and let out a breath, needing to share the doubt that lingered in his heart. "Mary," he started hesitantly. "If I don't come back…"

She shook her head, cutting him off. "That won't happen."

"No," he stopped her. His brows turned up in an earnest need to convey his uncertainty. "If I don't, then do remember how very glad I am that we made up when we had the chance." Mary felt her heart crack in her chest. She swallowed and her breath hitched and she pressed her lips together to keep from crying in front of him. His smile returned as he continued, his confidence returning. "I mean it. You send me off to war a happy man." Her face and entire demeanor brightened at his confession.

He began to walk toward the car and then paused and turned back again. "Will you do something for me?"

"Yes. Of course." She said smiling.

"If anything happens will you look after Mother?" His blue eyes darkened as though a heavy burden, like rains clouds, shadowed him.

She shook her head adamantly. "Of course we will, but it won't!" Mary's own smile betrayed the despair she felt in her heart. She leaned forward intending to kiss his cheek, but forgetting how much taller he was than her she was off center, and kissed him just under his ear. His skin was warm and she smelled an elegant after shave, with hints of vanilla and bergamot. She wanted to fall in to his arms, to have him hold her and kiss her and tell her everything would be alright. She held the kiss just a second longer than she should have and stepped back, regarding him with a cheerful demeanor. "Such good luck!"

"Thank you, Mary." He said with genuine appreciation. "And God bless you."

Mary stood and smiled affectionately as he boarded the train, closing the small car door behind him. The whistle blew again and the small commuter train began to huff, slowly moving forward as it pulled away from the platform, white smoke puffing out of the stack up front. As he watched her from the window, she held her hand up and waved.

He nodded and smiled politely, and as the train pulled away and she was out of sight, he pulled his cap off and dropped it on the seat beside him, suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of what he now completely understood…

….he was still in love with her.

As the train pulled away, meandering in to the rolling countryside, Mary dropped her hand. She could no longer hold back the tears and emotion that engulfed her. Putting a gloved hand to her mouth, she choked as she sobbed in to her hand, eyes closed and crying. She paused a moment to collect herself, putting a hand to her chest, catching her breath and composing herself. Finally, exhaling her pent up sorrow, she turned and slowly began walking toward the car.

~~00~~

Branson stood beside the sedan, in his green chauffeur's uniform and black boots. At the sight of Mary, he stood up straighter and snapped open a backseat door for her. Seeing the red around her eyes, he inquired thoughtfully. "Everything alright milady?" His tone was gentle, wanting to avoid prying at the risk of having his head handed to him.

She eyed him as she settled in to the backseat. "Yes. Thank you." She replied, almost inaudible.

Branson walked around to driver's side, his boots crunching in the cold gravel. Climbing in and taking a seat, he slid the key in to the ignition and the engine smoothly rumbled to life. For a moment they didn't move. Mary wasn't paying attention, staring out a side window. Branson looked at her reflection in the rear view mirror and watched as she dabbed a handkerchief to her eye. "You know, milady…"

"Yes?" She asked while still looking out the side of the car, lost in thought.

"If we hurry we can meet up with the train."

Mary blinked and looked back at him. "Meet up with the train?" She processed the suggestion. "You mean in Ripon?"

"No, milady," he replied. "The six a.m. train doesn't stop in Ripon." He revved the engine just enough to emphasize his point. "It stops in York, where Captain Crawley will change trains for London."

She raised a brow in an attempt to look slightly offended. "Are you suggesting that I follow Captain Crawley?"

He smiled, knowing her as he did. "No, ma'am. I was only thinking that the captain may have the day in London, and it seems a shame that he should be by himself before leaving for France." He lowered his voice respectfully. "Perhaps you can continue the conversation you were having on the platform? A proper sending off, if you will?" He watched Mary's reaction in the mirror. "We could be there in time for you to meet his train's arrival."

Mary's expression softened and her lips turned up in to a crooked smile. She had to admit it was tempting. "Perhaps you know me all too well, Mr. Branson."

His eyes met hers in the reflection of the mirror. "I just know what it's like to say goodbye." His arm bent as he pulled the gear shift, and his foot put some authority to the accelerator. The dark blue sedan moved with ease over the gravel and on to the road, heading in the direction of York.

* * *

48 Hours Earlier – Downton Abbey

Mary sat at her vanity while Anna stood behind her, putting one last tortoise shell comb in her upswept hair. Mary assessed herself in the mirror with a combination of haughtiness and bored conceit. "I forgot about this nightmare concert. You should have warned me and I would have spent an extra day in London."

Edith lounged on the bed behind her, watching her eldest sister's dressing ritual and piped up sarcastically, waiting for the just the right moment to bring up her sisters broken engagement. "But then you would have missed Matthew." She waited to see if Mary looked over at her, wanting to see her sister's shocked surprise. She was rewarded by Mary's stunned reflection of the vanity mirror.

Cora intercepted Edith's remark to soften it "Oh, Edith honestly, I don't know how helpful you're being." Cora had hoped Mary and Matthew would patch things up after their broken engagement twelve months earlier, but they hadn't. "Cousin Isobel said Matthew is home on leave. This will be his last visit to Downton before he leaves for France."

Mary mustered every fiber of her being to suppress her angst and heart break at the mention of Matthew's name, let alone news that he would be at the concert and leaving for the Front. "Oh? Well, then; how marvelous." She tried to appear laissez fair about it all, but knew she was a terrible actress.

Edith smirked at her sister's discomfort. "Yes and rumor has it that he has a girl friend in London. A pretty red-head, I think someone mentioned."

Cora eagerly interrupted again. "Isobel said she is a lovely girl, but that it's nothing serious. In fact, my understanding is that the girl has met someone new." She watched to register Mary's reaction, but saw nothing as she stood up. "Alright then I think it's time to be heading down stairs. Are you coming?" She asked Mary.

Mary cast an overly-enthusiastic smile back at her in her mirror. "I'll be down in a minute." She rubbed her gloved hands together as she slid on a bracelet.

Edith eyed Mary in her mirror as she followed her mother out of the room. As the door closed behind them, Mary sat in stunned silence.

Anna spoke softly and carefully. "Are you alright my lady?"

Mary's eyes began to water and her lips trembled. "Oh, Anna!" Her expression crumbled as she buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

~~00~~

Downton Abbey was lit up like a Christmas tree for the concert. Standing in the large formal entryway, Matthew handed his military top coat and cap to a footman and then walked by his mother's side as they moved from the foyer toward the grand saloon. Isobel looked over at him in his red military mess kit. "Matthew, darling, you look positively dashing in your uniform." She beamed at him, so proud of her son and only child.

He gave her a self-deprecating glance. "That's nice of you to say, Mother, but in this red jacket I feel a little like a bartender at the Connaught." He whispered teasingly, making her laugh.

"Ah, there's our leftenant!" Robert's voice boomed from across the room as he walked over to them, his hand outstretched.

Matthew smiled. He loved Robert like a father and it showed as he extended his hand and shook Robert's warmly. "Hello, Robert. It's so good to see you again. You're looking very fit, indeed!"

"Thank you, my boy!" Robert clasped his hand tightly and then turned to Isobel. "Isobel you look as lovely as ever. You bring sunshine with you every time I see you."

She chuckled. "Thank you Robert. If only that were true."

As they chatted, Matthew's attention was distracted. His eyes were drawn to the other side of the room. Glancing sideways he saw Mary, standing by the stage where the musicians were tuning up. He could suddenly feel his heart beating again at the sight of her—where had it been all these months? He smiled awkwardly at her, and she in turn smiled back. He excused himself from Robert and his mother, and walked over to her; his heart in his throat.

Mary wrung her hands together as he approached. She loved how he looked in uniform, the red jacket squaring his shoulders and black trousers accentuating his long legs. His hair was shorter and he had lost a little weight. Her breathing quickened and she couldn't help but avert here eyes from his, trying to control the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach. _Oh God, Oh, God, Oh God_…she fretted as she pondered what to say. She was grateful she was wearing gloves because the palms of her hands felt moist.

"Hello, Mary. How are you?" His voice was kind and warm. He was genuinely glad to see her and it showed.

She took a deep breath "I'm fine, thank you. It's been such a long time." She threw out some bait to see if he would nibble—if he would venture near the topic of their fight and fallen engagement from a year earlier.

He nodded. "Yes, I know, I'm sorry. I've been busy but I completed officer's training two months ago and have been at the Admiralty awaiting my orders." His eyes studied her, admiring her hair and beautiful eyes. "But I'm so glad to see you looking so well."

Mary chuckled quietly. "Alright, you win. We're at peace again." She put a hand on his arm and patted it affectionately, motioning out in front of them with her other arm, toward the stage. "I think you and Cousin Isobel will be seated in front with Pa-pa for the concert."

He hesitated. "But you and I will be dinner partners, I hope? So much to catch up on."

She looked down at her shoes for a moment and then back up at him. "Yes, I hope so."

* * *

**A/N ** The concept for this fic came from snowball4 on tumbr...thanks to snowball for letting me explore the idea! :) Thank you all for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

York – 1915

Matthew sat in his compartment, still wearing his coat, gazing out the window as the train approached York. The city's enormous cathedral rose like a fortress above the town. It was no surprise to him that he compared the cathedral to a garrison because he viewed his church in the same way—a paradox that could provide shelter and protection from the difficulties and horrors of life, or be forbidding and judgmental with the power to make men feel insignificant in its righteousness.

The train began to slow as it neared York Rail Station. He glanced at his watch. It was six twenty a.m. His connecting train to London left at six thirty so he would have to hurry. The train slowly came to stop in the station, steam hissing out from its sides. Matthew stood, put his cap on and grabbed his overnight case. He exited and looked around seeing the much larger train two tracks over which he knew was his connection. Looking around he noticed only a handful of passengers meandering about, along with uniformed conductors and station employees. The early morning air was cold and he walked briskly down the platform, pulling at the collar of his coat.

He suddenly came to a halt. He froze at the sight in front of him, blinking in disbelief.

Mary stood ram rod straight, her hands clasping her purse in front of her. He sighed at the sight of her. He gave his feet permission to move again and walked up to her, his head cocked to one side, unable to hide the look of surprise on his face. "Having second thoughts about your lucky charm?" He asked playfully.

His voice was tender and inviting. Mary took a deep breath—she wasn't comfortable with emotions or feelings, or revealing that she really had either. She laughed and shrugged nervously. "No. I…" her voice trailed off as she stuttered. "I just thought…." She stopped again, not knowing what to say. He was standing in front of her, their bodies only inches apart. She exhaled awkwardly. "I didn't want you to think…"

Before she could finish her awkward sentence he bent down and pressed his lips gingerly to her cheek, silencing her with a kiss. His soft lips brushed lightly, the hint of his breath against her skin. It was a sweet and chaste kiss, and the nearness of his body and his warmth compelled her to close her eyes momentarily at the realization of her need for him. He pulled back and looked at her. She was astonished but her eyes glittered up at his, unsure and unsteady.

He gazed at her and raised a hand to her cheek, lightly touching a gloved fingertip to her skin. Her brown eyes sparkled up at him and he lost himself in her. "I don't think anything." He whispered. "I'm just very glad that you're here…and that..."

Their quiet discussion was interrupted by the voice of a conductor. "Captain, sir?"

Matthew blinked and looked over at him. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt you and the missus, but it's that time." He aimed a thumb over his shoulder indicating the large train. "The number five is leaving for Kings Cross any minute, sir."

Mary blushed at being referred to as 'the missus'. She pressed her lips together self consciously, looking over at the old man.

Matthew nodded. "Yes, of course, thank you." He turned back to Mary. She reached up and straightened his collar. "I know you have to go."

He looked down at her, seeing her glance up at him from under her thick black eyelashes, feeling the warmth of her hands on his coat and around his neck. "Come with me." The notion fell off his lips faster than he could think it through.

Her hands froze and her eyes snapped up to his. "What?" Her breath hitched in her throat. "Whatever are you suggesting?"

He tugged her elbow and began walking to the other train. "I'm talking about buying a ticket for you and spending the day in London and having a memory." His voice was filled with excitement. "It's barely six thirty in the morning and the train gets in to Kings Cross at eight thirty. We could spend the day together and you can return on the four thirty train, and be back at Downton by eight o'clock."

Mary's feet were still following him, walking quickly down the platform toward the first class compartments, her feet keeping up with his. Matthew's reasoning actually made perfect sense—she could spend the day with him and be home in that evening. But should she? What if…?

"Here we are." He said. They were standing in front of the First Class compartment. "What do you think? Shall make a day of it, Mary?" His brows turned up in earnestness, his whole demeanor filled with promise.

Mary looked up in to his beautiful blue eyes, her heart still filled with love for him. A year earlier he had asked her if she loved him enough to spend her life with him, and she had always known the answer was yes. So many things she wanted him to know now, especially before he left for war, such as the truth about her delay in accepting his proposal—the truth about Pamuk and Aunt Rosamund's ridiculous advice. And what if Matthew's worries were right? What if he didn't come back? She was tired of thinking and worrying and regretting.

"I'm sorry." He breathed out apologetically, his voice a little sad. "I've been presumptuous." He shook his head at himself, admonishing his forwardness. "I didn't mean to imply…or to suggest in some way…"

She smiled and cut him off as she slid her hand in his. "I think if we keep standing here talking we'll miss our train."

He looked back at her in delighted surprise. He clasped her warm hand tightly, smiling widely. He stepped aside, letting her board first and followed her in, closing the door behind them. Instead of sitting across from her, he sat down beside her, removing his cap, which he held in his lap. They were the only people in their compartment and they smiled at each other as the train pulled away…pulling them away for their day together. "I know the most wonderful place for breakfast, if you like?"

She grinned cheerfully. "As a matter of fact, I'm famished!"

He laughed. "I used to have breakfast there with my father. It was one of his favorites. They have the best coffee and do miraculous things with eggs." He squeezed her hand gently in his. A conductor appeared at their compartment and Matthew motioned for him, reaching for his wallet in his breast pocket. He pulled out several pound notes and purchased Mary's ticket which he kept with his in his bill fold, returning it to the pocket in his coat.

"It sounds wonderful." She felt safe and happy, and for the first time in over a year she felt complete again. She spoke quietly. "Thank you for inviting me to spend the day having a memory with you before you depart."

As the train pulled away from the station, the platform disappeared and the town came in to view. The giant imposing cathedral came in to view again. Matthew believed in fate and thought that perhaps it had something to do with Mary meeting him in York. He felt other things in his heart too, which he was sure the church would frown at; but as he and Mary held hands on their way to London, he refused to let his faith, or self doubt, dampen their excitement or the possibility that lay in front of them.


	3. Chapter 3

London

The Swan was a small but nicely managed Tudor-style hotel on the Thames, just down from Parliament. As Mary situated herself in her seat she glanced around the small dining room and noticed men in dark suits and several couples enjoying breakfast. A fire crackled in a fireplace along the far wall. She smiled over at Matthew who sat across from her. "What a darling place. You said it was your father's favorite?"

"Yes. He discovered it when he was a young doctor training at Queen Elizabeth's Hospital, which is several blocks away. He used to stay here. He brought my mother to luncheon here on their first date." He grinned sentimentally at the notion. "Whenever we came down to London we always stopped in for breakfast. And sometimes, instead of the Connaught we'd stay here, in one of the corner rooms. All the rooms have a lovely view of the river. As a little chap I preferred The Swan because when my parents went down for dinner, they would arrange for my meal to be brought up to the room. I'd spend the evening reading books in the bay window and looking out at the boats, dreaming of all the places I'd sail to."

Mary was endeared by the image of Matthew as a little chap. "And in your dreams where did you sail to?"

He smiled. "All sorts of places. America, China." His eyebrows arched with inspiration. "Or maybe Tahiti."

"Tahiti? That's off the beaten path, isn't it?!"

He chuckled and cocked his head. "Well where would you sail to?"

She thought about it as she unfolded her napkin and arranged it in her lap. "Well, some place a little closer and more practical. Like Europe."

"Well, yes that would be much more practical as it's only three hours away by ferry. I think a chap swam over to it just last year." He chided her.

She looked up to see an older, burley gentleman rushing over to the table. He had silver hair and a mustache and wore dark pants, a white shirt with a dark blue plaid vest and tie. His Scottish brogue greeted them jovially. "Ah! Mister Matthew; or I should say _Captain _Crawley!" He said accentuating the rank and looking at Matthew proudly.

Matthew smiled bashfully. "Good morning, Mr. Martin." He leaned in and whispered. "But for the record, I'm still a lieutenant."

Mr. Martin smiled. "Yes, well, I'm sure it won't be long until you're promoted, lad!" He turned his attention to Mary. "And who is this lovely lass?"

Matthew cleared his throat. "Mr. Martin, allow me to introduce you to Lady Mary Crawley."

The proprietor's face widened in dismay. "Oh, my Lady! Welcome to the Swan!"

Mary smiled and held her hand out and shook his. "Thank you. Lieutenant Crawley was just telling me about your lovely hotel and how he practically grew up here."

Mr. Martin beamed. "Yes, quite right, my Lady. We first served Mr. Matthew when he needed to sit on a stack of books to sit properly at the table." He leaned down and whispered. "Dr and Mrs. Crawley have been our loveliest customers over the years." He let out a long sigh. "The doctor was a lovely man, bless his soul." Martin made the sign of the cross over his chest.

Matthew smiled self consciously. "I'm afraid Mr. and Mrs. Martin are a little partial."

The older man grinned. "And I'm not ashamed to admit it, lad! Now then," he said returning to business. "Would you like to start with coffee?" Matthew and Mary both nodded. Martin waved across the room and a young waiter hustled over with a tray, setting down cups and saucers and poured piping hot coffee. "My Lady? What would you like this morning?"

Mary looked up with curiosity. "No menu?"

Mr. Martin shook his head. "Whatever is your heart's desire, my Lady." He smiled at her, awaiting her decision.

She sighed, excitement on her face. "Well then, do you have Belgian waffles?"

Mr. Martin look nonplused. "Of course, my Lady! The finest Belgian waffles in all of London! One order of Belgian waffles coming up." He turned to Matthew. "And for our lad, the usual, sir? Scrambled eggs, potatoes, grilled tomatoes?" Matthew nodded eagerly, and Mr. Martin made a mental note of it. "And kippers this morning, Master Crawley, or bangers?"

"Oh, kippers, please!"

"Extra kippers," Mr. Martin said, anticipating the request as though he had heard it a thousand, times, which in fact he had. "Yes, yes, yes, of course dear lad…er_, sir_." Mr. Martin winked at them and returned to the kitchen.

They ate their breakfast and talked about the day, making plans for The Tate Gallery and a stroll through Mary's favorite park, St. James. She ate almost all of her waffle and smiled contentedly, sipping her coffee and watched as Matthew finished the last bites of lighter-than-air eggs. She looked over to the window, seeing a large ship slowly drifting up the river. It looked romantic and adventurous, like the man across the table from her and the day that lay in front of them. She took another sip and looked back at Matthew. "I think Tahiti sounds inviting, too." He paused and regarded her as she looked at him from behind demure eyes and sipped languidly from her cup.

* * *

They wandered the Tate, stopping to admire and discuss Van Goghs, van Dyks, Monets, Constables and a newer artist, Pablo Picasso. They walked the gallery quietly chatting and Matthew paused at one colorful painting in particular. He stood studying it, his hands clasped behind his back. Mary noticed and joined him, eyeing the painting. "What's this?"

He spoke quietly, never taking his eyes from the piece. "It's called the Swing, by Jean-Honore Fragonard, painted in 1766. It's one of my favorites in the collection. It was a scandal when it first debuted. The church banned it."

Mary assessed it. It was of a woman being pushed on a swing by a man. "I don't think I see what's so scandalous about it."

He pointed a finger to the lower left of the canvas. "Because there is a nobleman hiding in the bushes in front of her and he is getting an interesting, er, intimate view, while she is swinging."

Mary seemed unimpressed. "So?"

Realizing Mary didn't fully understand the painting, he leaned over to her ear, his warm breath and lips brushing against her as he spoke. "Because he is gazing up her skirt and in 1766 ladies did not wear knickers."

Her eyebrows went up and she gasped. "Oh my heavens!" Her hand flew up to her mouth.

"Yes. That's exactly what the Pope said." He smirked at her and moved along to the next painting.

"Matthew Crawley!" She breathed his name out.

Walking ahead he glanced back at her over his shoulder, his sapphire eyes playful and glittering. Mary felt a flush on her cheeks as she walked quickly to catch up with him. As they wandered back toward the first floor entrance, they rounded a corner and were stopped by a large painting. It was a stark war scene, depicting the American Revolution, with British and blue-coated American Continental soldiers, their bloodied bodies strewn around a dying horse on a battle field. Matthew's expression grew somber and his brows knitted in solemn study of the image.

Mary looked from the painting over to him, noticing his jaw clench and his brooding eyes. She slipped several fingers in to his left hand, down between them. "Come along then," she said gently. "We have the day in front of us." He looked at her and the hint of his smile returned as he squeezed her fingers affectionately, which he held on to as they walked hand in hand back out in to the sunshine of the day.

~~00~~

As they walked towards the park they admired the city around them. Mary bought a magazine and Matthew purchased a small bag of mints. They stopped in at a pub across from the park called The Pheasant and Hound and ordered tea from a window table, overlooking St. James.

Mary fidgeted. She had been waiting for the right time to tell Matthew the truth about Pamuk and why she failed to accept his proposal a year earlier. Before leaving for war, he had a right to know to the truth. They were the only customers near the window, so she decided it was time. "There's something I want to share with you; a confession really." She looked at him from under her lashes.

Her serious tone caught him off guard. "Oh?"

"It's something I should have told you a long time ago."

His eyes searched hers. "It sounds rather dire. What is it?"

She turned her tea cup in its saucer. "It might change things between us." She took a long sip, building her courage and straightening her shoulders. "Remember when that Turkish diplomat stayed at Downton? The one who passed away?"

He thought for a moment. "Yes, of course, Kamal something-er-ruther."

"Pamuk. Kemal Pamuk." She replied.

"Yes. I Remember."

She took a deep breath. "Well, the truth is…" and she proceeded to tell him the story of Pamuk's death in her bedroom. He sat in stunned silence as Mary reiterated the details. When she had finished, she held on to her tea cup as if to anchor herself to the table. Matthew sat speechless. Her heart beat rapidly waiting for his reaction. "Please say something; even if it's only to say goodbye." She regretted all of it, the incident with Pamuk and concealing it after Matthew had proposed. She wouldn't blame him if he got up and walked out. Instead, he sat looking at her, in shock.

He stood up from the table and turned and stared out the window beside them. He finally found his voice. "Were you in love with him?" He said still looking out at the park.

She felt the world spinning around her, engulfing her. She shrugged, feeling exasperated and embarrassed. "How could it have been love? I hardly knew him."

He turned to confront her, speaking quietly, his voice revealing his hurt. "Then how could you have..?"

She closed her eyes, keeping her voice down. "It was lust!" She pressed her lips together and fought back the tears that pricked her eyes and gently shook her head. "Or something. Oh, God, I don't know." She was losing him all over again. "What does it matter…" She looked down in to her tea leaves, hoping to see something promising, but felt defeated and alone. "The fact remains that I am made different by it."

He stood looking at her and glanced back over at the park. His mind turned the story over in his head, his heart aching and then he realized what she was revealing. "That's why you hesitated in accepting me." It wasn't a question but a revelation as he realized what had happened.

Keeping her eyes focused on her tea, she nodded. "Yes. I couldn't bear to tell you, but I couldn't accept your proposal without you knowing the truth. And Aunt Rosamund told me to wait." She let out a long breath that had been caught in her chest; a burden she had finally delivered herself from after nearly three years. "It was stupid of me to listen to her."

He adjusted his chair and sat back down again, facing her. Mary looked up at him hesitantly. His expression was serious and filled with pain, but softened as he looked in to her eyes again. He didn't know what to say, but he knew one thing was certain—his aching heart still loved her. "During the argument we had, when I turned you down, you were trying to tell me weren't you?"

She nodded silently. Her eyes closed as a tear trickled down her cheek. "Yes." She whispered in a watery voice. "Oh, God, Matthew, I ruined everything."

He shook his head at himself. "I was a fool. I cut my nose off to spite my face, thinking your reservation had to do with my status as heir…never even allowing you the opportunity to tell me what you had been trying to say." He slumped back in his seat. A waiter came by and picked up the tea pot and refilled their cups, and then disappeared. Matthew reached in to his breast pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. He gently shook it open and leaned forward, offering it to Mary.

She took it and smiled forlornly. "Oh, Matthew, I'm sorry. I'm so very, very sorry." She sniffled delicately in to the handkerchief.

He let out a long sigh and a tender smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Even so, thank you for being honest. Thank you for telling me."

Mary finished dabbing her nose and eyes and looked at him. She lifted her tea cup and took a sip. "I wonder what time it is."

He glanced at his wrist watch. "Huh, it's only noon. We have all afternoon."

She blinked at him, her lashes glistening with tears, searching his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," he said with affection. "War has a way of reminding us of the things that are important." He stood and extended a hand to her. "Like strolls through St. James."

She smiled up at him and gingerly placed her hand in his. She stood and his hand gently tugged hers, pulling her closer. "I'm afraid I've ruined your handkerchief." She said quietly.

He looked deeply in to her brown eyes, tumbling in to them. "You haven't ruined anything," he whispered. He bent and kissed her cheek.

She seemed confused and overjoyed all at once. He guided her hand through his elbow and walked beside her as they left the pub and crossed the street to the park.

Kemal Pamuk had become a distant memory.

~~00~~

They walked through the park and then around the lake, pausing on Blue Bridge, looking over at Westminster Abbey. Several ducks swam over to greet them, quacking and honking. An old woman was selling breadcrumbs for the birds, and Matthew bought a bag. They leaned over the bridge tossing crumbs and the ducks splashed around for them.

"Oh, Matthew, look!" Mary pointed excitedly over toward the side of the lake. There, among the reeds on the shore, were ducklings paddling around. He laughed and grabbed her hand and walked back over the bridge, and down around underneath, to get a better vantage point of the baby ducks.

Matthew tossed a handful of crumbs out and the ducklings waded out of the lake and padded all around his boots, making him laugh.

Several waddled over to Mary. "Oh, they are so adorable! May I have more bread crumbs, please?"

"Yes, of course!" He held the bag out for her and she pulled out another handful and sprinkled them around the grass, and the ducklings bobbed their tiny heads gobbling them up. Mary continued to step back toward the lake shore.

Matthew called out. "Mary. Be careful."

"Yes, yes, I know." Her attention was centered on the little birds waddling around her feet as she walked backward.

"No, I mean the lake is right behind…" Before he could finish his warning, the loud splash echoed around the park. Matthew's eyes flew open at the sight of Mary falling backward off the shore and in to the water. "Oh, my God, Mary!" He ran over to the side of the lake.

Mary's head popped up, soaking wet. She spewed lake water out of her mouth and stood up, shaking her arms. "Good God in heaven!" She called out.

Matthew had to bite his tongue to stifle his laughter. "Are you alright?"

She eyed him. "Do I look alright?" She spit out more water and tugged wet her hair out of her eyes. "And I suppose you think this is hilarious!"

He shook his head. "Absolutely not! Now come over here." He held his hand out, but he was chuckling.

Mary rolled her eyes and stomped over toward him. The ducklings followed her in a line, paddling behind her.

Matthew laughed at the sight. "I hate to tell you this but I think the baby ducks have mistaken you for their mother."

Mary glanced back and rolled her eyes in disdain. "Oh, dear lord!" She stepped around reeds and the parent ducks who had now returned. Her red suit was sopping wet and she held her drenched matching hat in her hand, and strands of her wet hair hung down around her shoulders. The magazine she bought was long gone.

Matthew looked at her cautiously, smirking. "Please don't be furious, darling," he spoke calmly. "We can go back to the Swan and Mrs. Martin can get your clothes dry in a matter of hours, I'm sure of it."

She stood looking at him, fuming. A baby duck peeped around the hem of her skirt. She grabbed the bag of bread crumbs from Matthew's hand and flung it in to the lake, and all the ducks swam out after it. "You, you..." She started to say something but while all of that happened, despite her furor, she realized that Matthew had called her darling...and she couldn't help but smile. "Alright, I give up." She blew out a breath and looked down at her wet clothing and then back up at him. "Heavens I am a mess!" She laughed at last. "Do you really think she can make me presentable again?"

"I'm sure of it." He unbuckled his waist belt and took it off and removed his miliary tunic and draped it around her shoulders. Mary smiled at him appreciatively. He held his belts in one hand and with the other he reached for her arm and led the way as they walked in the direction of The Swan.


	4. Chapter 4

When they emerged from St. James, Matthew spotted a taxi. He was secretly grateful since he was, officially, out of uniform while his tunic was draped around Mary to keep her warm. During the drive across town, Mary huddled against him, shivering in her sopping wet clothes and hair. When they were deposited back at the Swan, Mrs. Martin swept Mary under her wing and took her upstairs, leaving Matthew in the bar.

He sat at a small quiet table, absent-mindedly looking out the window at the river. His fingers slowly turned a sherry glass by the stem, its revolutions reflecting the thoughts turning over in Matthew's head. He chuckled to himself about her notion of sailing away to Europe—if it was with her he could make it his dream destination, too. He was glad she had finally told him about Pamuk, at long last explaining her delay to his proposal. It had all happened a long time ago, but now it made more sense to him. He didn't really care about the Turk. Part of him had been shocked; yet another part of him had been intrigued. Lust, she had called it. He took a long sip of sherry as his imagination came to life with smoky, sensual thoughts of Mary warming and teasing his mind and body.

"Lieutenant Crawley?"

Mr. Martin's voice brought Matthew's attention back to the Swan. "Yes?" He sat up straighter. "I'm sorry. I was just lost in thought."

Martin smiled at him. "I was just coming to let you know that Mrs. Martin said Lady Mary is all freshened up again sir—if you'll pardon the expression." He looked around and leaned over and whispered. "You can go up and see her if you like, but you'll have to promise you won't let on to Mrs. Crawley about it. Your Mum would have my hide, and the missus', if she knew we let you visit a single lady in private."

Matthew grinned. "Of course, thank you, Mr. Martin. I won't tell, if you won't." Mr. Martin raised a hand to his mouth and mimed turning a key and throwing it away. Matthew grinned. "I deeply appreciate your kindness to both Lady Mary and me." He was charmed by the Martins and thankful for their friendship.

"Would you like another sherry, sir?"

He eyed his glass. "Yes, thank you, and one for Lady Mary as well. I'm sure she could use one."

~~00~~

Matthew held a small tray with two glasses of sherry on it, as he took the stairs up to his corner room on the third floor. He knocked gently and spoke softly, leaning his ear against the door. "Mary?"

Her feminine reply answered quietly. "Yes?"

"It's me. May I come in?"

There was a pause before her permission. "Yes, of course."

Matthew opened the door slowly and peered around the edge, finding Mary standing across the room, wearing one if his spare uniform shirts. The shirt tails hung down to her knees and she had rolled the sleeves up. She stood in front of a mirror pulling a brush through her hair, which had dried, and looked over at him. "Hello."

He smiled. "Everything alright?"

She nodded. "Of course, don't be silly. I may look ridiculous, but I am perfectly covered up."

"You look quite fetching, actually." He shut the door behind him. "I thought you could use something to warm you up." He held up the tray.

She smiled, not sure if he was referring to the sherry or himself. "How lovely, thank you." As he held the tray out to her she lifted up one of the small glasses and took a sip. The cream sherry flowed down through her and warmed her from head to toe.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes and much drier, thank you very much. It felt wonderful to bathe all of that lake water off of me." She looked down and her hand tugged at the fabric of the shirt. "I hope you won't mind. One of your spare uniform shirts was the only thing handy to wear until my suit is dry."

He smiled. "I must say it looks infinitely better on you than it does on me. I'm not sure I'll ever view an Army uniform quite the same way again." As he sipped his sherry he spoke softly. "Is that the _only_ thing you are wearing?"

Her voice was deep and alluring. "If I said yes would you be shocked?" She arched a brow as she posed the question.

He cleared his throat and glanced down at her feet, which were bare. "Your feet must be freezing. Here," he said as he set his glass down and reached over in to his overnight bag. He lifted out a pair of wool socks. "Why don't you put these on?"

"You sure it's alright?"

"Yes, yes, of course." He danged the socks out and she eagerly took them and sat in an overstuffed chair and began slipping them on. Matthew stepped over to the window, but couldn't help but let his eyes wander back to see Mary bending over and pulling the socks on one by one.

As she moved, the shirt hem slid up, revealing the length of a creamy leg and thigh. "My lucky charm that I gave you has let me down today." She huffed as she fidgeted with the socks.

"Really? I was just thinking the opposite."

"What do you mean? I fell in to a lake, for heaven's sake."

"The way I see it, I get to spend the whole day with you and I have a beautiful woman who is partially clothed in my bedroom. All in all I'd say I've been very lucky. I should have the little charm cast in bronze."

"Ah!" Mary announced, assessing her feet and wriggling her toes in the sock. "There now, much better." She joined him by the window. "Thank you for the use of your clothing."

"You're welcome." Looking down at her he could see the outline of her body as the fabric gaped or hugged certain areas when she moved. She looked wanton and delectable in nothing but his shirt and socks. He looked around and spotted his topcoat on the bed. He picked it up and held it open for her. "Here, I think you should slip this on."

She looked at it. "Oh, that's sweet of you, but I'm really not cold anymore."

He shook the coat. "It's really more for my benefit than yours." He raised a brow.

She smiled, sensing his meaning and reached an arm out and slipped it through a sleeve. "I've never worn a gentleman's greatcoat before." She slipped her other hand in to the other sleeve.

"It's actually called a British Warm coat. It's slightly shorter than a greatcoat." He adjusted the coat on to her shoulders and whispered in her ear. "And I'm thankful mine is the only one that has ever warmed your partially dressed body."

She laughed and tugged the coat around her like a robe. "The fabric is quite substantial."

He sipped his sherry. "It's meant to endure the trenches, warfare and all sorts of conditions." He looked back out at the river, his expression far away.

She ran a hand down one sleeve and then looked up at him, realizing that the shirt and coat she wore would soon be keeping him warm in France, protecting him from mud and wind and blood...and bullets. "It smells like you." She said as though it were already a memory.

He looked back at her. "And what do I smell like?"

She held the top of the collar up and breathed in. "Like vanilla, and leather and Earl Grey. A proper English gentleman."

He chuckled. "Well, now that you're wearing it, here's hoping it smells more like you."

She cocked her head. "And what do I smell like?"

He gazed in to her eyes and then bent his head and leaned over. He nuzzled his nose behind one of her ears, breathing in gently. "Like a summers day in Yorkshire; roses in springtime," he brushed his lips against her neck, "and long passionate kisses after midnight."

Her breath hitched in her throat. "Then you have forgiven me about Mr. Pamuk?" She asked reluctantly, afraid of rejection.

He leaned back and resumed looking out the window. "No, I haven't forgiven you."

"Oh," was all she said, in a quiet and lost tone.

"I haven't forgiven you," he continued, looking back at her, "because I don't think you need my forgiveness." He smiled. "You've lived your life and I've lived mine."

Mary's lips formed a humbled smile and she wrapped an arm around his waist, snuggling him. "Thank you."

He smiled and curled an arm around her, welcoming her warmth against him. "There's nothing to thank me for. I'm just glad we made up when we had the chance, and that we're here together."

The bay window had a built-in bench with a long cushion on top. He sat down, leaning up against the side of the window and held a hand out to her, inviting her to join him. "Oh, Matthew, we shouldn't." Her fingers self consciously tightened the coat around her neck. "What if someone sees us through the window? What if Mrs. Martin walks in?"

"We're three floors up. No one will notice us from the street, and Mrs. Martin won't just walk in." He reached out and tugged her hands playfully. "Besides, you said yourself, you are perfectly covered up, especially now."

"Yes, but you just said I am partially dressed." She smiled, letting him guide her to sit between his legs, which were stretched out along the cushion. She leaned up against him. Her cheek rested against his chest, and they sat quietly looking out at the boats on the river. "Looking down from here," she whispered, "it feels like we could sail away with them, doesn't it?"

"Yes," he whispered as one of his hands stroked her hair. His hand glided from her hair down over her shoulder. He rubbed her back in gentle sweeping caresses. Even with the warm coat covering her, he could feel the contours and outlines of her body. His hands caressed shoulder blades and the dip of her slender waist.

Mary purred against him, rubbing her cheek against his chest, like a kitten in his lap. "I would you know." She looked up at him. "I would sail away with you."

"I'm glad." He looked down at her, her face only inches away from his. He couldn't help his own body's response to her. Her deep brown eyes were filled with trust and something else that made his heart skip a beat. She moved and inadvertently rubbed up against him and it made his breath hitch. "Mary…."

"I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?"

He shook his head. "No." He cleared his throat.

She sat up and shrugged the coat off, and draped it over them like a blanket. She faced the window, snuggling against him again, her head tucked under his chin. His arms tightened around her, pulling her close. He kissed her hair and they looked out at the river in silence until they both fell asleep.

~~00~~

When Mary awoke the late afternoon sun cast its glow outside the window and around the room. A boat horn could be heard off in the distance. The warm coat was still draped over them and she glanced up and saw that Matthew had nodded off as well. His breathing was slow and deep, and his long blond eye lashes rested against his cheeks. She leaned up and brushed her nose against his jaw, breathing him in.

He stirred but kept his eyes closed. "I wonder what time it is."

"Half past four," she whispered as she placed a soft kiss on his neck.

His hands rubbed wide circles on her back, down over the swell of her bottom. There was no corset, slip or camisole concealing her figure; no tight undergarment preventing him from feeling her warm, beautiful body. Everything about her was soft and curvaceous, and everything about him was hard and rigid. "Mary," he breathed out. She had turned, her legs straddling his lap. His hands slid over her bottom, finding her warm skin under the tail of his shirt. Her lips were trailing small kisses to his earlobe. As she leaned against him her breasts pressing up against his chest. "Mary…"

As she moved she could feel the evidence of his desire underneath her, between her legs. She rolled her hips, brushing herself up against him. Instinctively his hips gently bucked upward and the sensation caused her to shudder and quietly gasp.

"The train," he whispered. His voice was slightly hoarse from arousal. "The next train to York leaves from Kings Cross at five thirty."

"Alright." She murmured against his ear as she kissed him and tenderly laved her tongue over his earlobe.

His hand moved from her bottom to her thigh, his finger tips drawing tiny circles on her skin. Her hips moved again and he slid his hand down between them, where their laps, met. He took in a breath at the feel of damp warmth and the realization that she really wasn't wearing anything under his shirt. His fingers found her wet curls and carefully slid along in to the depth of her body. She moved to accommodate him, and he slid a finger deep inside of her, eliciting a moan from deep inside both of them.

She leaned up to look at him. Her eyelids were heavy with arousal. "Is there a later train?"'

His lips curved up in to a smile, seeing how his ministrations pleasured her. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. "Yes, at six o'clock. But," he was finding it difficult to speak as his own desire was hypnotizing all rational thought from his mind. "If we don't stop now..."

She leaned in to his kiss. "I don't want..." Her reply was silenced as their mouths covered each other in a long, warm kiss. His tongue slipped around hers, mimicking the rhythm of his fingers inside her core. She braced her hands on the window frame behind him, letting herself enjoy the pleasure from his touch, until she writhed in aching, unanswered need.

He leaned back and looked at her, her brows wrinkled and expression painful. "Mary…what is it?" He didn't understand.

Her hips still rocked against him and she keened from desire and need so intense it hurt. She shook her head and closed her eyes, but the ache was only stronger. Her fingers pulled at the buttons of his short, pulling it open.

He could feel her need inside of her, his hand sopping wet with her desire, and now saw it in her eyes. He moved, carefully sliding her on to the bench, and knelt down. Mary leaned back, her eyes closed and panting. His warm, gentle hands smoothed the shirt up around her hips, revealing her to him, the sight of her overwhelming his own arousal. He leaned forward, gently opening her, and kissed her, sliding the tip of his tongue over her folds. She reminded him of a succulent peach, soft and wet and sweet. His tongue swirled over her again and within seconds he heard her soft, muffled cry as her back arched and she shuddered against him. Her fingers slid into his hair as his lips worshipped her and she cried out again…and then again.

She found his hand and slid her fingers through his, tugging him up. He moved until he was bent over her, their eyes connected again. As he kissed her she reached up and pulled the rest of the buttons on his shirt until it hung open and then began unfastening the buttons of his trousers. The sensation of her fingers against the fly of his pants sent little vibrations straight to his body. He groaned gently and stood, pulling her with him, and stepped over to the bed. Mary reclined and tugged his hands, settling him on top of her. He kissed her tenderly but with need as her fingers stroked him and her fingertips traced the tip of his length. They shifted their clothing, and their arms and legs, and within moments his body was finding its way in to hers. She gasped softly as her most secret, private place was opened up, stretching until she was full of him deep inside her. He moved and she was immediately lost, hands clutching at his back.

"I love you," he panted against her cheek, as the last threads of control slipped away and he moved again and again, until he cried out in to her hair, ecstasy flowing through him and out of him, and in to her depths.

Mary arched again at the feel of his release. It was as though something hot and warm and wonderful was dissolving inside of her, filling her emptiness with a magical potion. The sound of his cries was so beautiful and erotic she felt the tethers of sanity and control disappear and she sobbed his name out in another peak, shaking in his arms as he took her.

~~00~~

Matthew's eyes slowly opened and he saw the top of Mary's brown head on his chest. He smiled and slid a hand through her hair. She stirred and turned her head to look up at him, resting her chin on his chest. "Hello." She whispered.

His smile stretched from ear to ear. "Hello."

She chuckled and spoke softly. "You look like the Cheshire cat."

He glanced up at the ceiling, awkwardly, and then back at her. "That was my first… well I mean, you, know." He confided clumsily, but earnestly. He suddenly regretted saying anything, worried she might think it an offhand remark about her past, which it wasn't. He shut his eyes and shook his head in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I sound like a schoolboy. I'm not being very eloquent, am I?"

She knew what he meant. "You're being perfectly eloquent." She kissed his chest. "It was all very perfect and very sweet." She liked sweet. She kissed a path of kisses up over his chest until her lips met his and they shared a long, lazy kiss filled with love and humming from both of them. One of his hands tenderly caressed her up the side of her torso, stroking the side of her breast with his finger tip.

Tingles began fluttering in her again. "What time is it?" She asked in between kisses.

He glanced sideways at the clock ticking on the nightstand. "Five forty."

"You said the next train is at six?"

"Yes," he mumbled as their tongues slipped against each other. His breath caught in his throat as one of her hands caressed him, his body responding to her touch.

She smiled against his mouth. "If I leave now I could just make it." Her voice was teasing.

He moaned and rolled on top of her. "There's an eight o'clock train as well," he whispered in to her neck.

Mary did not make the six o'clock train…or the eight o'clock train, either.


	5. Chapter 5

Kings Cross Station bustled with activity and crowds of people leaving on evening trains. The station was dotted with men in uniform, including Matthew. He walked briskly down the platform, pulling Mary along behind him with one hand, and carrying his leather overnight bag in the other. Several trains were about to depart. His was leaving for Paris, and hers was leaving for York. Mary nearly had to run to keep up with him, his long legs dashing at a quick pace. "Matthew!" She was breathless. "It doesn't leave for another ten minutes!"

He checked his watch which read eight fifty on the dot. He looked back at her. He had a wide smile, his teeth shining and his blue eyes sparkling. He had been smiling like a school boy all evening. "Better safe than sorry." He squeezed her hand playfully. "Ah," he announced as they reached the first class cars. "Here we are!"

Mary caught her breath as she came to a stop and he turned to face her. Her eyes looked down, assessing her own appearance. "I'm lucky Mrs. Martin was able to put me back together again."

"You look lovely, just like you always do. No one would ever guess what you were doing today."

Mary's eyes flew open and she blushed furiously. She glared and looked over her shoulder and then back at him. "_Matthew_," she murmured through clenched teeth.

He leaned forward, his eyes inches from hers. "I was referring to your fall in to the lake."

Mary pressed her lips together and her gloved fingers clutched her purse tighter. "Well!" She sounded aghast, looking at him from under her thick black eyelashes. "_I should hope so_."

He smiled and patted her arm affectionately. "What will you tell your pa-pa about being gone all day?"

"The truth, naturally."

It was his turn to look astonished. "What?"

She smiled smugly. "I'll say that after seeing you off at the Downton train depot this morning, I decided to go in to York. And that I ran in to an old friend and we spent the day together." She cocked her head, happy with herself.

He nodded. "Well, if he finds out otherwise, tell him it was my fault and that I dragged you off to London for the day."

A conductor in a black British Rail uniform shouted over. "Track four! The nine o'clock to York Station departing from track four!" Clouds of steam hissed out of the side of the train, shrouding the platform in a white mist.

Matthew reached in to his breast pocket. "Here's your ticket."

Mary took the boarding pass. "Thank you." She said, her voice softening and the playful smugness replaced by her sincere tenderness for him. "What time does your train leave?"

"Five minutes after yours. It gets in to Dover by ten and then the ferry leaves at eleven thirty."

She nodded and toyed with the ticket in her hands. France—the Western Front. Matthew was heading directly in to the horrors of war and she hated it. She looked up at him, his eyes, tranquil turquoise against the khaki uniform. "Thank you for a lovely day." She forced a smile, bright and cheerful, but it betrayed the heartache she felt in her chest.

He smiled back but he was unable to mask his emotion. "I'm so glad we had the day together, Mary. It will be with me, always." He reached for her hand, which slipped easily in to his as it had all day…as though she was an extension of him. He looked at their joined hands and watched her lower lip tremble as she blinked wet eyes. Still holding her hand, he tugged it gently and she leaned forward until she was pressed against him in a discreet hug. Mary's cheek rested against his coat and one of his hands wrapped around her. They stood self consciously, aware of the throngs of people milling around them. She pulled back and looked up at him. He gazed down in to her eyes as they stood in silence, holding hands while the world spun around them. "I feel like we lived a lifetime together in one afternoon." His voice was sentimental.

Tears pooled in her eyes and her voice cracked as she spoke. "Please don't say that. You make it sound like there isn't a lifetime in front of you."

He spoke quietly, so she was the only person who could hear him. "Well if there isn't, please know that I am the happiest man alive." His smile was real and genuine. "Happy for having loved you, not just today, but from the moment we met. I'll always love you."

Mary sniffled. The train whistle blew loudly and echoed around the station. She wanted to tell him she loved him; that she desperately loved him. But she wasn't designed to say those words. It was a vulnerability she couldn't admit. And she had just shown him how much she loved him that afternoon, up in their little room at the Swan. "I feel the same way," she whispered, praying he would interpret her meaning.

He spoke tentatively. "I think it would be lovely if we could spend all of our days together."

She nodded trying to contain her composure. "Yes, it would." She pressed her eyes closed and the tears that had welled now tumbled down her cheeks.

His eyes implored hers quietly. "Then will you?"

She sniffed and opened her eyes to look up at him. Her expression changed in realization of what he was asking. His proposal from a year and a half earlier was being given life again. "What?"

He had a self satisfactory smile on his face. "You've lived your life and I've lived mine."

She nodded again, surprised by his forwardness on the train platform. "I agree." She touched a hand to her damp cheeks.

He looked at her matter-of-factly. "So now I think it's time we live them together." He clasped her hand tighter and let the words float out around them and took a step closer to her. "I know it's not a proper place to ask you. But will you?"

The train conductor stepped over to them. The real world was insistent and intruding again. "Pardon me miss, but the train is departing."

Matthew acknowledged him and reached over and pulled the door to the train car open. He touched Mary's elbow as she stepped on to the car, and snapped the door shut behind her. Standing at the window of the small door, he pulled out a crisp white handkerchief and held it out to her. Mary smiled and took it. She dabbed her eyes and nose. "Yes," she sniffled. "Yes I think we should live them together."

His gaze was earnest and emotional. He reached inside the window of the door and clasped her hand. The train lurched forward and slowly began to move. Matthew walked with it, his hand still clasping hers. "I'll be back in six months."

"Of course you will." She said with hope and love in her voice. "I'll write all the time. Every day!"

He chuckled at her. "No you will not." His eyes twinkled at her from under the bill of his cap.

She laughed back with him. "Alright, then, every other day!"

He was walking faster to keep up with the train. "Remember. If Robert finds out you were in London today, blame me!"

She laughed again and shook her head. "He won't." Her hand squeezed his tightly as he jogged to keep up with the train. "Just be safe!"

"I will! I have your lucky charm to look after me!" His smile returned and his hand tightened reassuringly around hers. The end of the platform was in front of him. With his arm outstretched, he let her hand slide away from his as the train pulled away, rolling out of the station.

Mary leaned forward and peered out the window, her hand waving back him in a long goodbye, and then she slid back in to her compartment, the cold night air rushing in.

He stopped and stood at the farthest most corner of the platform, watching as her train sped in to the night, taking Mary along with it…away from him. He let out a sigh and looked at his watch. He put his empty hand in his pocket, touching the stuffed toy she had given him and started walking toward the troop train.

Mary jumped up from her seat and leaned out the window again. "I love you!" She shouted as loud as she could and reached a hand up to keep her hat from flying away. "Matthew, I love you!"

He stopped and turned, thinking he may have heard her voice again. Looking back out in to the dark night he saw her train disappear around the curve of the tracks leaving London, only its ghostly silhouette visible in the distant darkness. The sounds of the station were all around him and he realized he hadn't heard anything at all.

* * *

Mary walked in to the dining room for breakfast, finding Robert seated at the head of the table reading the Times. Edith and Sybil were seated side by side down the table. Robert turned the corner of the paper down to look at her. "There you are, my dear. We missed you at dinner last night. Everything alright?"

Mary picked up a plate from the buffet table and gathered toast and jam, and then found her seat at the table. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't it be?" She happened to notice Carson out of her peripheral vision. The butler was staring at her, appearing to be waiting for the same answer her father was.

Robert sat looking at her. "Where were you yesterday?" Edith and Sybil listened as well, interested to know where Mary had been.

She paused as Carson poured a cup of hot coffee in the cup in front of her. She leisurely took a sip. "I saw Matthew off on the early morning train from Downton."

Robert looked surprised. "The six o'clock train?"

"That's right." She took another sip, her eyes looking from Robert to her sisters and back again. "Then I decided I had the whole day ahead, so I ran in to York and bumped in to an old friend. A girl from my coming out season."

"Oh?" Edith queried. "Who was that?"

Mary took another long sip of coffee, her mind racing to select the right person who would be a believable acquaintance. She set the cup down in its saucer. "Philena Walker."

Sybil's brows knitted. "Philena was in York? She married that American chap several years ago. I didn't realize she was back for a visit. I would have thought her parents would have had a party or something for them?"

Mary was quick to cut off the discussion. "Yes, well, it was apparently a last minute thing."

Robert crinkled his newspaper. "I wish you would have phoned or Branson should have told us."

Mary took a delicate bite of toast. "I'm sorry. I keep forgetting we have one of those things now. Next time I'll be sure to call to let you know. And it wasn't Branson's fault—he dropped me off and I told him I would catch a taxi to come home." Robert nodded believing her.

Carson eyed her and poured another splash of coffee. Mary glanced up at him, avoiding eye contact, and continued with her breakfast.

Robert snapped the paper, folding it closed, and took a final drink from his coffee. "Well, I'm off for the day." He kissed Mary's cheek. "You girls have a lovely day." He breezed out of the room with Isis in tow.

Edith eyed Mary. "What was all that nonsense about Philena?"

Mary buttered her toast. "I don't know what you're talking about?"

"She hasn't been back from Boston since the wedding, I'm sure of it."

Mary rolled her eyes knowing Edith would never let it go. "Alright, then, I made it up." She sighed and looked at her sisters, and glanced to ensure Carson was out of the room. "If you must know I just wanted a day to myself." She shrugged her shoulders to make a point. "Is that a crime? After seeing Matthew off, I went to York and just shopped, had tea, and went to the library and read. I lost track of time and took a taxi home late last night."

Sybil leaned in to the table and whispered. "You weren't with Matthew? It's alright if you were! I would think it terribly romantic!"

Mary looked at her little sister affectionately but sternly. "I most certainly was not. I said goodbye to him and he was off to France. And then I spent the day in York. That was all there is to it. Sorry if that's not exciting enough for you, two."

Edith pressed the issue. "Why didn't you just tell that to pa-pa?"

"Because he worries unnecessarily about things." She stood and dropped her napkin on the table with an exasperated finality. "Now, if you are done with your interrogation, I'll be at Granny Violet's if anyone needs me."

Mary turned and walked out of the room, touching a finger to her hairline where she felt herself perspire.

~~00~~

Belgium

Matthew stood in the underground bunker quarters, dimly lit by gas lanterns, unpacking various items from his duffle bag. Extra uniform pieces, toiletries, and books amounted to the bulk of his personal possessions. He reached in to his coat pocket and removed the little stuffed dachshund Mary had given him. He set it on the nightstand, next to his cot, where he could easily grab it.

His soldier servant hung his uniform items up. "Can I get you some coffee sir or something eat?"

Matthew spoke as he continued to unpack. "Have you eaten, O'Brien?"

"No sir," he relied honestly.

Matthew sighed as he shrugged off his coat. "I'll be perfectly good on my own for the rest of the evening. But I want you to go ahead eat something, and get some rest. I'll see you in the morning, first thing."

The aid nodded appreciatively and left. Matthew spent the evening having dinner with the other officers, and then retired to his quarters, carrying a tin cup of tea back with him. He stretched out on to his cot and pulled the wool blanket up over him. He left a gas lantern burning, which glowed a soft amber hue.

Lying in bed, he remembered the shirt he had on was the one Mary had been wearing in London; he reached a hand up and tugged at the corner of the collar, pulling it toward his nose. He breathed in. It smelled like summer afternoons in York, and roses in springtime…and long kisses after midnight.

He fell asleep, dreaming of her.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** Sorry it's taken me so long to post chap 6. I have been very, very busy with lots of business travel and a few other things. Thanks for hanging in there with this story. :0 You are so kind to continue reading! :) Enjoy!

* * *

Downton Abbey - Ten Weeks Later

Dr. Clarkson shook the small, glass thermometer up and down in his hand with the snap of his wrist, smiling pleasantly. Mary was lying up against the head board of her bed, her skirt-covered legs stretched out, and Granny Violet seated beside the bed.

Violet propped her cane in front of her with her elegant, wrinkled hands perched on top of it. "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, my dear."

Mary crossed her arms in front of her and let out a breath of frustration. "Well, I'm never sick. And I think calling on Dr. Clarkson is nothing more than a waste of the poor doctor's valuable time."

Violet shrugged. "The Grip can sneak up anyone. Better safe than sorry, I always say."

Clarkson grinned politely as he looked at the thermometer in silence. Violet was antsy, her voice light hearted . "Well, doctor? What is your prognosis? Will the patient live?"

Clarkson spoke as he wiped the tiny instrument. "Countess Grantham, I wonder if I might trouble you to arrange for some tea for Lady Mary? I think the warm beverage would be nice and settling for her."

Violet perked up at the notion of being needed, but eyed the doctor suspiciously. "I don't mind at all, so long as this isn't just an excuse to get rid of me so you can conspire in private?"

Clarkson grinned, but kept his counsel. "It's nothing of the sort, I assure you."

Violet leaned forward and patted Mary's shoulder. "I'll be back shortly, my dear." She turned and glided to the door with her familiar gait to accommodate her bad hip, and disappeared, shutting the door softly behind her, peeking back suspiciously.

The room was quiet as Mary looked back up at Clarkson. "Well, what do you think?"

The doctor began putting various medical instruments back in his black physician's bag. "None of your symptoms would indicate influenza, the common cold, or TB. Your temperature, nausea, and occasional light headedness don't point to any of those diseases."

Mary let out a long sigh. "I hope you're not about to suggest that I have some rare, exotic illness you're going to have to look up in one of your medical journals?" Her sarcasm was intended to lighten the moment.

"No," he continued, "in fact I think it's something that is actually quite common." Mary looked up at him with wide, expecting eyes. Clarkson was hesitant but proceeded. "Lady Mary, may I speak frankly?"

She rolled her eyes, irritated at having to visit with a physician in the first place. She picked at the sleeve of her blouse. "Yes, for heaven's sake, the suspense is killing me."

Clarkson took a deep breath and spoke quietly. "I can assure you I speak in the strictest confidence and that this conversation will go no further than you and I." He lowered his voice. "Your symptoms, along with some of the physical evidence, suggest that you could be," he whispered delicately, "in a family way."

Mary's fingers froze on her blouse and she looked up at him. "What?" Her mind was trying to grasp his question as though it were an algebraic equation or some sort of foreign language. _The family way?... _She had suspected once or twice, but prayed she was wrong. The notion had fluttered in to her mind several times, but she shooed it away..._they had only been together the one afternoon._

As Clarkson watched her, he realized she was truly stunned. It wasn't unusual for women of her station to be unfamiliar with the science of how conception actually occured. Aristocrats rarely discussed personal matters of any sort. "Well, it's just that all of the symptoms, and your physical ailments, would imply such a condition." He paused and looked at her, his expression kind but professional. "I'm afraid that I must ask. Is it a possibility?"

Mary felt her breathing quicken and her heart rate increase. Panic began to take hold. "Oh, God," she muttered. "Oh, dear God." She thought she might faint again. Her head fell back on the head board.

Clarkson stepped over to the water basin and dipped a linen hand towel in to the water and wrung it out. "It's alright," he said comfortingly, holding it up against her forehead. "Just hold this against your head. I know this is awkward."

Mary's voice began to quiver. "Surely it can't be?" She looked at him like a frightened child, her eyes wide from under the cooling towel.

He slipped his hands in to his pockets and regarded her in a whisper. "Is it possible, my lady?"

Mary thought for a moment. Finally, she scrunched her eyes closed and nodded. "Yes." Her voice was filled with guilt and emotion. She turned her head away from him and spoke in an embarrassed whisper. "What you must think of me."

"On the contrary, Lady Mary, I'm not thinking anything of the sort. I only have the utmost respect for you and Lieutenant Crawley, and sometimes war has a way of getting things a bit out of order." He smiled. "You wouldn't be the first engaged couple in the middle of a war, where the cart got before the horse, so to speak."

Mary kept her face turned away from Clarkson. She sniffled and was now using the linen towel to dab her eyes and nose. "Oh, God this is such a mess. How far do you think?"

Dr. Clarkson picked up one of the crystal glasses on the night stand and poured water in it from the matching crystal pitcher. He handed it to her. "Well, from the symptoms you've described and the exam, I'd say about three months."

Mary began to cry harder. Clarkson wanted to reassure her. "Now, there, there, my lady. When Lieutenant Crawley comes home you can move up your nuptials and everything will be fine."

Mary's voice caught in her throat. "Dr. Clarkson, Lieutenant Crawley is not due home for another three months at least." Her whole demeanor was filled with shame.

Clarkson did the calculation in his head and his silver brows knitted. "Oh, I see." He walked over to the window, deep in thought. What to do, what to do…. He reached a hand up and pulled the drape aside.

Mary's voice became a dark whisper. "Perhaps there is another option? I've heard of midwives in London. I've heard…"

Clarkson looked over at her and cut her off. "Lady Mary, if I may speak boldly, you cannot be serious about such a thing! That may be the only route for girls in trouble and without any possibility for a normal wedded life, but you and the Lieutenant are in no such circumstances!" He gathered his temper and his voice softened again. "Is that what you would truly want?"

Mary's eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. "No…no of course it isn't!" One of her hands instinctively came to rest protectively on her abdomen. "But what am I to do? I cannot tell my parents!"

Looking out the window, Clarkson thought for a long moment as he looked out over the lawn of the state. The idea came to him suddenly. "Perhaps I could send a Red Cross message?"

Mary's sniffles paused. "What?"

He looked back at her. "I can get a message to Lieutenant Crawley through the Red Cross. It's for emergencies, but I'd say this definitely classifies as such. He would have it within 24 hours and could make arrangements to return to England for a brief leave." He stepped back at over to the bed. "It's worth a try anyway, don't you think?"

"Oh, doctor, do you really think it might work?"

He smiled. "There's only one way to find out."

* * *

Belgium - The Somme

Matthew winced in pain as the medic slid the steel scalpel in to his upper left arm, popping the shrapnel out. "Ah!" The corporal announced with pride. "That's done it sir!"

Matthew sighed and nodded in relief. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, Banks." The medic was looking at him with pride holding up he shrapnel. "Well, done, corporal. Now if you would be so kind as to patch me up I can be on my way."

"Yes, sir!" Banks replied crisply and he went to work drizzling the small wound with alcohol, dabbing and tossing blood soaked cotton balls on the muddy ground and applied a bandage.

O'Brien appeared walking down the trench, smoking a cigarette and holding up a piece of paper. "This just came for you, sir!"

"What is it O'Brien?" Matthew asked looking up from his injury and taking the document.

O'Brien pulled on his cigarette. "It's a Red Cross cable, sir."

Matthew looked up in surprise. "A Red Cross cable?" His hands began moving ferverishly, tearing the paper until the messege opened. He knew they were for emergencies. His eyes scanned it the cable.

O'Brien piped up. "I hope it's nothing to serious, sir."

"It doesn't really say," Matthew breathed out. "It's from my family's physician, Major Clarkson. Just something about an ill family member but it doesn't say who." His mind raced. His mother? Cousin Robert? More likely, Violet.

"Will you be taking leave sir?" O'Brien eyed the medic's handywork as he spoke.

"Yes. I"ll have to see if I can take a few days and return to London straight away."

O'Brien had already turned and was walking toward Matthew's bunker, his cigarette smoke trailing over his shoulder. "I'll take care of everything and have your luggage packed in a jiffy, sir!"

* * *

London - Victoria Station, 4 Days Later

Matthew stepped off the train and began walking toward the front entrance to find a taxi. The station was filled with crowds of people, some running for trains, and others embracing goodbye. It made him think of Mary. He shifted his overngiht bag in his hands and headed out of the terminal and caught a taxi. It was late, after ten o'clock in the evening. Rather than try to make a train for Downton, he decided to head to the Swan for he night and would catch the first train out of Kings Cross the next morning.

As the taxi crossed the city he noted how quiet it seemed as the pubs were just about to close. He glanced at his watch and was happy to see he would still have time for a drink or two. The taxi pulled up at the Swan and he hopped out and paid the driver.

Stepping in to the Swan was always a little bit like coming home. It smelled heavenly and was warm and inviting. Mr. Martin immediately spotted him and walked quicky over to greet him. "Our Major returns!"

Matthew smiled sheepishly as they shook hands. "Good evening, Mr. Martin, it's good to see you again." He leaned toward the older gentleman. "And just a reminder that I am still lieutenant."

Mr. Martin shrugged. "The Army has their schedule, and I have mine!" He clapped Matthew on the back, causing him to slightly flinch in pain from the bandaged shrapnel wound, but Martin missed it. "Would you care for a drink, Master Crawley?"

"Adore a brandy, thank you!" He followed Martin in to the bar area, and immediately stopped. Looking across the room he saw Mary sitting at one of the small tables. "Mary!"

She stood up, and smiled. "Matthew!" the first thing she noticed was that he had lost weight. He looked taller and leaner in his uniform, but despite everything she thought he looked wonderful. She crossed the room to meet him half way.

He dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her up against him. She almost fell in to his arms. "Mary, my darling..." He could hear his own voice ragged with emotion. He leaned back to look at her, noticing she looked different somehow...softer, more rounded cheeks. Suddenly, tears streaked those same cheeks, and he used his gloved covered thumbs to brush them aside. "Please don't cry, Mary. What is it? What's happened?"

She pressed her eyes shut. "Oh, Matthew...I"ve made a horrible mistake," she mumbled through her watery voice.

Holding her face in his hands he became worried. "Darling, what is it? I received a Red Cross message."

* * *

**A/N ** Will get to Chap 7 this weekend I promise :)


	7. Chapter 7

They sat at the small table Mary had secured. Matthew hadn't even taken his overcoat off yet, but he set his hat on the table beside Mary's purse and Mr. Martin delivered a snifter of brandy. He leaned over the table, toward her, his face shrouded in concern. He tried to keep his voice a controlled whisper. "Mary, what's going on? Did you send the Red Cross communiqué?"

She blew her nose in to her hanky, nodding. "Yes. Dr. Clarkson sent it." Matthew could see how upset she was, her eyes red and watery. He slid the brandy glass across to her and she gingerly took a light sip, but swallowed hard, a combination of nerves and worry. "Oh, Matthew I've made such a mistake!"

Matthew blinked his eyes and let out a frustrated breath. "What's going on?"

Mary looked around the room secretively. "I don't think I can say it out loud here."

He pressed his lips together tightly and looked down at the table. His patience was snapping. "For God's sake, Mary, I just left a battlefield, leaving my men behind, and travelled for 3 days to be here as quickly as possible! It's late, I haven't eaten and I've been in the same uniform since Tuesday. Now can we please dispense with playing charades?" He was exhausted. "What was the Red Cross cable for?" His eyes looked at her in anticipation. "Is it my mother?"

Mary knew she was behaving like a child. She shook her head. "No, no. It's not that, thank heaven." She meant it.

He turned the palms of his hands up in question. "Well then what? Cousin Violet? And what mistake could you have made?"

"No," she said again. Mary took a deep breath and another tiny sip of brandy, and steeled herself. "Remember your last day before you left? The one we spent together?"

His frustration hovered like a rain cloud but his expression softened. His dimples returned along with the hint of a smile. "Yes, of course, I remember." He whispered quietly. "How could I not?"

She spoke so quietly that it was barely audible. "We were so reckless, Matthew." She opened her eyes and stared at him in silence.

His eyebrows turned up as if to ask her a question. His eyes read her like a letter, searching for the meaning in her eyes. And then suddenly, the meaning of her words appeared to dawn on him. His questioning look changed to one of surprise. He sat and stared at her momentarily as it all registered. Finally, he found his voice. "Are you saying, that…?"

Mary's eyes closed again. "Yes…yes." She let out a long sigh. "It seems I've formed a habit of making terrible confessions every time we're in London." She sniffed again and lifted her hanky, which was now a wrinkled ball. "It would be comical if it weren't so tragic."

Matthew sat motionless, rolling the development around in his head, and then looked at her. He reached in to his coat pocket and removed a white pocket square and offered it to her.

Fresh tears tumbled down her cheeks. "The things you must think of me," she shook the handkerchief open and held it up to her face. "I'm a woman of easy virtue." She blew her nose daintily in to the linen.

Matthew stood and scooted his chair closer to her and sat back down again. "Now see here, you are no such thing. People have children every day."

Mary wiped her red eyes. "Yes, Matthew, _married_ people." Her voice hitched. "But this..this is illegit…"

"Don't use that word!" He spat out the word like an order and straightened up, glancing over his shoulder and then back at her. "I won't hear of that sort of language!" His brow was furrowed in consternation.

Her shoulders drooped as though all the air had seeped out of her. "I'm sorry."

He exhaled as he shrugged his coat off. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. For raising my voice…and for...well, everything." He spoke discreetly. "It's my fault, Mary. Not yours."

She dabbed her eyes with his handkerchief. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. It will be a scandal."

He set his hand on hers and squeezed tenderly. "No it won't. And stop using words like scandal and illegit…er, that other word." His brow was still brooding as he whispered. "Just because the order of things is a little askew doesn't mean this little person is any less welcome in our lives. A surprise, yes; a scandal, no." He tugged her hand lightheartedly. "We can put this all right by getting married as quickly as possible, which we would have done anyway during my next leave."

Mary squeezed his hand back affectionately. "We'll have to tell Pa-pa."

Matthew mulled the thought. "I would prefer to start by telling him we are married."

Her eyes flew open. "You mean elope?"

He took a long sip of brandy. "Yes, of course. Tomorrow, if possible."

Mary thought about it, toying with the notion. "Here in London?"

"No. My family's vicar in Manchester will happily oblige us, I'm sure of it. He baptized me when I was a lad. I'll simply tell him our desire is to be married while I'm home on leave. He'll understand, I know it." He smiled at her reassuringly. "We can take the train there in the morning and be married in the afternoon. Then I suggest we stay at my parents home tomorrow night and return to Downton the following morning. What do you think?"

"An elopement." She whispered the words like a rumor she was telling herself.

He leaned closer to her, his earnest eyes filled with genuine concern. "Do you really think it's so tragic? Do you really feel like what happened was a mistake?"

Mary looked in to the depths of his blue eyes. She was thankful he was home and thought about how his glittering blue eyes would look on their child, and suddenly she realized her heart was happy. A smile finally found its way to the corners of her lips. "Of course not. I'm upset about the order of things, not about that."

Mr. Martin appeared and politely interrupted. "Mr. Matthew, I presume you and Lady Mary will be staying the night?"

Matthew sat looking at Mary, then pulled his eyes away. "Yes, as matter of fact we will."

The older gentleman grinned. "I'm so glad to hear it. Mrs. Martin and I like having you young people here. We have your usual room, sir, and one just down the hall for Lady Mary." He held out two room keys.

"Thank you, Martin." Matthew thought about his favorite room, with the bay window and the view the Thames. "Actually, I'll plan to take the room down the hall and we can let Lady Mary have the room with a view."

Mary objected. "Now just a minute, after everything you've been through, you should have…:"

He raised a hand and cut her off. "All of the Martin's rooms are quite nice, I assure you. But I know how much you like looking at the river, so it's settled."

She tried to interject again, but was shushed as Matthew stood up, grabbed his coat, and held a hand out to her. "Shall we?"

~~00~~

Mary had changed in to her night clothes and sat in the bay window, braiding her hair. Watching the lights on the river, she felt happier than she had since Clarkson first told her the news; happier even since Matthew had left for the front. She was relieved and comforted to see him safe and sound and home from the war, even if only for a brief time. Somehow, despite all the circumstances, she was happy. A knock at the door distracted her and she got up to answer it, already knowing who her late night visitor was. "Yes?"

Matthew's voice came from the other side of the door. "It's only me. I just came to check on you."

She smiled and pulled the old, large heavy door open, and leaned her cheek against it. "The groom is not supposed to see the bride before the wedding." Mary chuckled sarcastically.

He slouched against the door frame and replied tenderly. "Don't make it little, Mary. Just because our wedding will be somewhat different than other people in Burke's Peerage, doesn't mean it's any less meaningful." He reached a hand out and playfully tugged at her braid. "All that matters is what's in our hearts."

She nodded appreciatively. "I know."

His eyes glanced down over her. "I haven't even had a chance to ask you how you are feeling?" He spoke hesitantly, unsure if her new condition was a topic for chit-chat yet. "Are you alright?"

Mary smiled. "Yes, I think so." She reached a hand out and rubbed his arm. "But it's I who should be asking you the same thing. I haven't even asked you how you have been?"

"All in one piece which is all any man can hope for in a war." He glanced around the room, his mind remembering the last time he was here, with Mary. It suddenly struck him that as a result of that memory, three of them were now back in the room. "Is everything alright? Can I get you anything?"

She squeezed his arm. "You already have, just by being here. Thank you for coming."

He smiled. "Of course I'm here." He stood up from the doorway. "We have a big day tomorrow. I'll telephone Vicar Edmunds first thing. Everything will be alright."

She nodded again, her cheek brushing against the door. "I know it will."

He bent and kissed her cheek, lingering at the softness of her skin. "I love you," he whispered, his breath warm and inviting on her face.

Mary watched as he walked down the hallway to his room. Before disappearing inside, he glanced back at her and winked teasingly. For the first time she felt something flutter deep inside of her….like a surprising little butterfly announcing its arrival. She looked down at herself in fascination. When she looked back up, Matthew was already gone.

Mary fell asleep, grateful that Matthew as safely home. She dreamt of butterflies and wedding nights….


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N** Sorry it has taken me a while to post a new chapter-I appreciate everyone's patience! Life has been keeping me busy! But here is Chapter 8 for your enjoyment! :)

* * *

Trinity Anglican Cathedral – Manchester

After arriving at London Road Station, Mary and Matthew took a taxi straight to the church, Trinity Cathedral. As Matthew and Vicar Edmunds got reacquainted and chatted about the ceremony, Mary looked up and around admiring the beautiful stained glass windows encased in the walls of the old stone church. She noticed the baptismal at the altar and thought of Isabel and Reginald holding their baby son while his little head was dabbled with holy water, and the thought made her smile. She contemplated how perfect it would be that since they were to be married in this church it would also be a proper setting for the christening of their child, just like its father. Symmetry was important to Mary, and this was all perfect symmetry.

"Mary, what do you think?"

Matthew's voice snapped her attention back to the proceedings. "I'm sorry, what was that?" She smiled at Vicar Edmunds. "I was just admiring your lovely church and missed what you said. I'm so sorry."

The Vicar, dressed in a black clergy suit and white collar, smiled. "No need to apologize for admiring the Lord's handiwork, Lady Mary. Besides," he continued merrily, "brides are supposed to be a little distracted on their wedding day."

"We were just talking about whether the short ceremony or the full ceremony would be preferable. Vicar Edmunds said most small, private ceremonies like this are usually the abridged service. What do you think?" Matthew gauged her expression.

She was nonplussed. "I think the shorter service is fine, but I would like it to include communion like a formal proper wedding." She straightened her gloves. "And I would like to walk down the aisle." She clasped her purse, taking her stand.

"By yourself, Lady Mary?" The vicar seemed intrigued more than surprised.

"Yes, it's my wedding isn't it? I always thought I would walk down the aisle when I got married, so I would like to do so if you don't mind?"

"Of course not. We have a lovely organ in the church and my wife can play the processional."

She smiled. "That would be fine, thank you."

Ten minutes later Mrs. Edmunds arrived and greeted everyone politely and festively. Vicar Edmunds positioned himself at the altar, and instructed Matthew where to stand at his left. Mrs. Edmunds and Mary walked around to the front of the church. "Lady Mary, would you prefer the traditional procession of the Bridal Chorus by Wagner, or something a bit more contemporary such as Bach's Joy of Man's Desiring?"

Mary thought about it as they walked. She liked Bach and associated his music with Christmas more than anything, but she had read some brides were now using it in their weddings. "Lieutenant Crawley like's contemporary ways, so I think something by Bach might be quite suitable."

They stopped by the doors to the aisle. "I brought something for you Lady Mary." Mrs. Edmunds reached in to the bag she was carrying and pulled out a small, but full white nosegay of Lilly of the Valley, its lush green stems cut and tied with a white satin ribbon that had been fashioned in to a bow. "They grow in our garden here and I thought you might like to carry them."

Mary was delighted. "Oh, Mrs. Edmunds they are truly beautiful! Thank you!" She clasped the small bouquet and raised it to her nose, breathing in the sweet fragrance of the flowers; the elegant aroma officially made it a wedding day. She stood to one side of the doorway, which was opened and watched Mrs. Edmunds dash up the small staircase to the organ. She chuckled to herself—it all suddenly felt exciting, spontaneous, and a little reckless.

It had become a proper elopement.

Within several minutes the sound of the processional began and Bach's Joy of Man's Desire drifted through the church. Mary had been to many weddings and services, but as she listened she thought it was possibly the most beautiful version she had ever heard, and the music selection was perfect for their wedding—reverent and joyful. As she walked down the aisle, the music all around her, she never noticed the rows of empty pews, as her eyes were solely focused on Matthew's. He stood formally, waiting and smiling from the altar, his sky blue eyes glittering in the soft afternoon light of the church. She thought of how handsome he looked in his uniform, and the love and excitement that filled his face as he watched her walk up the aisle, step by step, toward him…and toward their new life together.

As they held hands and took their vows, Mary glanced up at the crucifix. The face of Christ gazed down at them. She wasn't sure if she believed in God, but she believed in faith, and the love she and Matthew shared in their vows. She knew Christ would know their secret, but instead of shame, she was filled with hope and love.

"You may kiss the bride.' Vicar Edmunds gentle authorization to Matthew echoed around the vacant church.

Mary smiled at her new husband. As he took her hands, she felt something in his palm. Looking down she saw that it was the stuffed toy, her good luck charm she had given him to take to the front. She looked back up at him and started to say something but his lips silenced her with a gentle, chaste kiss.

Symmetry.

~~00~~

Manchester was the heart of the industrial machine of Britain, but as a city it was also noted for its red brick architecture. As their cab sped across town, Mary admired the city's modern buildings mixed in with its historical Victorian designs. It was a city where innovation was embraced, and moving forward was admired. She suddenly realized that Matthew had not only gotten is forward thinking disposition from his parents, but from the city that nurtured him.

As they passed various locations, Matthew would point out its significance; his old grammar school, his father's medical practice, and the homes of special people in his life such as classmates and his first crush. Mary delighted in his recollections and squeezed his hand affectionately, still getting used to the gold band on her left ringer. He grinned back at her and lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed her wedding ring.

The taxi turned in to a residential neighborhood of large, grand, three and four story red brick townhomes. They slowly drove down the lane, and each home's well appointed appearance made it known that this was an area of upper middle class education and wealth. The gardens were smaller but manicured, and dotted with more expensive flora, such as rose bushes, lilacs and ornamental trees. The car stopped at a corner residence.

"Here we are!" Matthew announced happily as he stepped from the car and held his hand out to her.

Mary loved the house at first sight. It was a large three story home constructed of dark red brick and had green ivy creeping up its sides and around a few windows. The garden was filled with rose bushes and several Cherry trees.

The well appointed stature of the house continued on the inside as well. In the entry way, there were several oil landscapes, one which appeared to be a Constable. The home had large windows and was bright and airy. The furniture was a mix of expensive antiques and handcrafted newer pieces, accented with collectibles, elegantly framed pictures and vases. Unlike Downton's chillier grandeur, the Crawley home was sophisticated but warm and inviting and made Mary feel welcome. She immediately felt like a resident instead of a visitor. "Well, what do you think?" Matthew's voice was filled with anticipation for her impression.

She gave him a bright smile along with her earnest critique. "Matthew this is a lovely home!"

"I hoped you'd like it. It's not as grand as Downton of course, but…"

She squeezed his hand again. "I love it just like it is. It's beautiful." She walked down the hall in to the living room, which had a large blue and white Persian rug, more elegant furniture and bright paintings. The mantle over the fireplace held a collection of blue and white Chinese vases, which complimented the carpet. "Who takes care of all this while you and Isobel are in Downton?"

"We have a caretaker, Mr. Ambrose." Matthew tossed his hat on an end table and laid his coat over the back of a chair. He stepped over and helped Mary off with her coat, smiling as she adjusted the nosegay in her hand which she still clung to. "I phoned him yesterday to tell him we would be staying for a night. He is supposed to meet us here."

No sooner had Matthew said the words when the voice of a man came from the hall. "Good afternoon, Mr. Crawley." The elder gentleman smiled as he greeted them. He was dressed in tweeds and a necktie.

"Ah, Mr. Ambrose, we were just talking about you!"

"The house is in fine fiddle, Mr. Crawley. I've seen to it that the tarps were all removed from the furnishings and the rooms are tidied. I had the large guestroom set up, sir, as well as your father's dressing room, if that's alright."

"Yes, of course it is; thank you." He gestured toward Mary. "I'd like you to meet my wife, Lady Crawley."

Mr. Ambrose beamed. "How do you do, my Lady. What a pleasure indeed!"

Mary tingled at her first introduction as a married woman, Lady Crawley. "Hello, Mr. Ambrose. I'm so happy to finally visit my husband's home. It's simply lovely."

"Thank you, ma'am," Ambrose said taking the remark as a compliment. "My wife and I look after the place." He noticed her nosegay. "Would you like to have those placed in water my Lady?"

Mary was surprised. "Oh, yes please, if you don't mind."

"It would be a pleasure." He took the bouquet and turned to Matthew. "I'm afraid there wasn't time to have a proper cook come in, sir, so Mrs. Ambrose prepared afternoon sandwiches and tea, and she's making a roast dinner for you."

"That's very thoughtful, Ambrose, how kind of her."

"Don't think anything of it, sir. She'll leave you and Lady Crawley on your own tonight, but can be back to prepare breakfast in the morning if you like, sir?" Ambrose glanced from Matthew to the bride and back again. "Late morning, sir, if that's suitable?"

Matthew smiled at the gentleman's obvious intent. "Anytime tomorrow morning will be fine, Mr. Ambrose. My wife and I have a train to catch at noon."

"Understood, sir." He nodded his head in confirmation, scooped up the coats, and turned and disappeared back down the hallway. Matthew caught him discreetly sniffing the bouquet.

Mary smiled. "Well then, can I have a tour?"

* * *

**A/N** If you are wondering about the elopment details, I took them straight from personal experience...my parents eloped and were married in a large church in Atlanta, GA, and I thought elements of their ceremony would be right for M/M's. My Dad was in the military and was married in his uniform and my Mom wore an afternoon suit and carried a nosegay he had purchased for her just before their ceremony. My parents said the minister explained that elopements do not, typically, involve the bride making the procession down the aisle; but my mother felt it was her wedding and as such she wanted to do it properly. So the minister's wife played the organ and my Mother walked up the aisle to the non-traditional Bach's Joy of Man's Desiring, carrying her nosegay of pale peach roses. :) Voila! I am finishing chapter 9 and will post today as well!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N** Hi all! Thank you for reading my story! Several reviewers asked me if I knew that Bach was not a contemporary composer. I just wanted to assure everyone, yes I know that Bach composed music in the 1700s…what I meant by contemporary was that using his music in place of the bridal processional was considered contemporary. But my writing may be a little confusing at times so I appreciate everyone's reviews and questions! Thanks so much! :)

Ok, here we go…!

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Matthew took Mary's hand and led her around the first floor from the living room, the dining room, salon, kitchen and sunroom. His father's study was off the foot of the staircase, a large library office filled with built-in book shelves stuffed with books and leather furniture adorned the room. A doctors' bag still sat on the desk and an oil painting of Isobel hung over the fireplace, with a toddler-aged Matthew sitting in her lap cuddling in to her side. Mary immediately fell in love with the room and the painting. "Here," he said, gesturing toward the medical bag, "If you lean down you can still smell his pipe tobacco." Matthew bent over, his nose over the bag and breathed in. A happy smile formed on his face.

Mary followed suit, gingerly leaning over the bag and inhaling daintily. Sure enough, the aroma was pleasant tobacco. "Mmm...vanilla and cherry." She smiled at approvingly.

He nodded. "That's right. Dunhill's blended it for him."

The second floor had five bed rooms. The master suite was at one end of the hall with Dr. Crawley's dressing room; two other rooms and then another large room at the other end of the hall completed the floor. Mary followed Matthew in to one of the bedrooms. "This is my old room," he said clicking on the light switch.

Mary was instantly charmed. "Oh, this is what a boys room should be!" A double bed with a navy blue bedspread was situated on one wall, a desk sat underneath the window, a large book case covered one wall, and a cricket bat and a bag of golf clubs were propped in several corners. A rowing oar hung over the small fireplace, and school pictures cluttered the mantle. Matthew leaned against the door frame and watched as Mary smiled and walked around taking it all in. She noticed the desk had a girls name etched on top of it. She grinned mischieviously and looked over at Matthew. "Who's Elizabeth?"

He grinned back at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "A friend." Was all he said.

Mary chuckled and continued her snooping. She noticed a framed picture of him as a teenager posed with his parents. "You look like your father. I can see it in this picture quite strikingly. You have his eyes and facial features, but Isobel's coloring."

Matthew picked up the frame and looked at it sentimentally. "Yes, that's what people always said." He tenderly touched a finger tip to the photo.

Mary could sense the loss he still felt for his father. "Every time your mother looks at you she also sees your father." She sighed. "It must be quite comforting."

"Or quite sad. I'm never sure which." He shrugged with insecurity and gave her a wistful smile. "But I hope you're right." He set the picture back down and tugged her hand. "Come on." They walked back to the staircase and went up to the third floor, where a large guest room was opened and prepared for them. It faced the back garden and was decorated in shades of cream, rose and light brown, and had a large bed and a sitting area. A fire crackled in the fireplace, warming the room.

"Is this alright, darling?" He said hopefully, looking around in inspection.

"It's perfectly lovely, Matthew." She finally set her purse down on the vanity, feeling at home and lifted her hat off. She looked over at him as he sat on the window seat, their eyes meeting. "Thank you for my tour. I love the house."

"I'm so glad. I hoped that you would." He cocked his head and held a hand out to her. "Come and give me a kiss."

She raised her brows in mock disdain. "Goodness, married only an hour and your already issuing orders and edicts."

He chuckled. "I hardly think so." He softened his eyes. "_Please_ come and give me a kiss."

Mary smirked and could no longer resist. "Well, if you put it that way…" She joined him and wrapped her arms around his neck, closing herself around him in a warm, tight hug.

"Happy?" He murmured against her ear.

Mary leaned back. "I think you know the answer to that."

"Are you sure you won't always be disappointed you didn't get to have a large wedding?"

She kissed his lips softly. "What makes you think I wanted a large wedding?"

He was perplexed. "Well, I thought all young ladies wanted that?"

"I'm not like all young ladies." She purred against his throat.

He closed his eyes, letting himself fall under the spell of her kisses along his jaw. "Yes, that's true. That's why I married you, of course." Mary chuckled and continued trailing kisses up towards his ear, her tongue gently teasing his ear lobe, as her fingers slid I to his hair. "Darling," he said, surprised at her eagerness. "I'm so happy married life agrees with you."

Mary sighed and stopped to look at him. "Is that a rebuke?"

He smiled, seeing the flush in her cheeks. "It's a happy observation." He rested his forehead against hers. "I'm glad you want this…_us._" He whispered feverishly.

"I think it's our little secret." She said, her eyes locked on his, clearly referring to the baby.

He leaned back to look at her. "Really? The little secret makes you feel like….?"

She nodded and pressed in to him again. "Yes, I feel it quite frequently." She was nuzzling his ear again.

Matthew blinked and swallowed as he tried to concentrate. "How frequently, exactly?"

"Several times a day." She kissed his cheek and brushed her lips over his. "Sometimes more."

"More?" He muttered, his pulse quickening at the feel of her kisses. His eyes closed again and Mary's fingers pulled at the buckle of the belt on his uniform.

"Yes," she whispered, "More."

He was lost in their kiss, his arms around her, pulling her closer and feeling all of her against him. It had been so long. The night before they had been so busy talking about Mary's condition, the Red Cross message and getting married, only now he realized they hadn't really kissed. After three months at the front, he felt like starved man, as though he had just crossed a great desert and found an oasis of love, pleasure and ecstasy.

He took several steps until they bumped in to the bed. Mary tumbled back on to it, laughing. Matthew immediately worried. "God, I'm sorry! Are you alright, darling?"

"Yes, yes," she giggled, pulling him to join her on the bed.

His hands poised on either side of her face, he smiled down at her and brushed his nose against hers. "I love you so much, Mary. I'll love you all the days of my life, and more."

She put a hand in his hair as she gazed up in to his eyes. "Me too, my darling, always." He leaned down and covered her mouth with his, his warm tongue teasing and tasting her and sliding in to her mouth, their hands pulling at their clothing, frantic to explore their bodies and the erotic treasure they both knew awaited them.

At first the sound of the front bell didn't cause either of them to stop. Both Matthew and Mary were accustomed to servants who took care of answering doors. The front bell rang again, more insistently the second time. The third time prompted Matthew to pause. "Damn," he cursed in her ear.

"Won't Mrs. Ambrose answer it?" Mary cooed against his lips.

He sighed. "I'm afraid she may have run to the market; and since neither my mother nor I reside here full time, there is no other staff." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Whoever it is sounds persistent. It might be a cable from my unit—I'm sorry but I better answer it." Matthew leaned up on his arms, refocusing his attention with a rueful smile. "I'll be right back."

Reclined on the bed, Mary raised her arms seductively above her head and whispered up at him, "I'll be waiting…"

Matthew took the stairs quickly, two at a time. He knew he could receive whoever it was, probably an old school chum whose mother told him she saw him getting out of a taxi in front of the house. He was hoping it was a classmate who would disappear the moment he mentioned he had just married that morning.

He stepped off the last stair, past his father's study. Sure enough, there was no sign of Mrs. Ambrose who was off running an errand before dinner. _Damn_, he thought, _alone in the house with Mary and he has to answer the bloody door!_ He mused that no jury in the kingdom would convict him if he killed whoever it was. Chuckling to himself, he walked purposefully in to the entryway. He slid a hand through his hair, smoothing it in place, and tugged on his tunic to ensure it looked crisp. He reached out, his hand grabbing the brass door knob and pulled it open.

He was stunned to see who was standing on his front step. "Robert!" Matthew uttered the name in astonishment and horror. He froze in surprise, as though the world had opened up.

Robert stood in his hat and top coat, the early evening light setting across his features. "I was wondering if you have seen my daughter?"

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Thanks again for reading! Chapter 10 on the way! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N** Hi everybody! Thank you so very much for your reviews and for your encouragement with this story. I must admit I had some trouble with this chapter. But *takes a breath* here it is! :) Enjoy!

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Robert pushed past Matthew and followed the hallway to the living room. Matthew shut the door and followed him, trailing briskly behind the Earl. "Robert, I can assure you…"

Robert pulled his Homburg off and shoved his gloves inside the crown. "I don't want your assurances, Matthew. I want the truth." He stood like granite, his eyes riveting and serious. He spoke in a low cautioning tone. "So help me God, if my daughter is in this house you may thank your lucky stars that I love you like a son and won't have you put in front of a firing squad!"

They were interrupted by Mrs. Ambrose, who reappeared, holding silver tray with a china tea service on it. "Pardon me, sir. Would you like tea served here in the living room?"

Matthew was thankful for her interruption and smiled nervously. "Ah, yes, thank you Mrs. Ambrose, that would be very nice." He took a breath as the housekeeper set the tray on a side table, poured several cups and left. He returned his attention to Robert, and was emphatic. "This isn't what you think it is."

Robert pulled at the buttons of his top coat. He huffed out a sarcastic laugh. "Any time someone tells me that things aren't what I think they are, it _always_ turns out that they are _precisely _what I thought they were!" His voice was loud and filled with the bluster of a commanding officer.

"And what, exactly, do you think has happened here?"

"When a young woman disappears for a secret rendezvous with a young man it usually entails either a tryst or an elopement. And since Mary lives her life by a strict moral code, I can only deduce that her disappearance has to do with the latter."

Matthew stood in silence, his mind frantically searching for the right words. He hadn't envisioned telling Robert the news in this way. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off.

"Pa-pa?" Both men turned to find Mary standing in the door of the living room. Her hands were clasped nervously, concealing her wedding band.

Robert vented a frustrated sigh, like steam escaping from a running engine. "So, you are here!" His eyes flicked from Mary to Matthew. "So my deduction was right!" His rhetorical comment was filled with fury.

Matthew held a hand up. "Robert, please, I can…"

Mary spoke up as she walked toward them. "How did you find me?" She was glad to see her father but weary of his reaction. She suddenly felt like a little girl who had run off to play but had been caught. It was ridiculous, but her fear of her father's temper was temporarily tamping down her independence.

Robert was as vexed with her as he was with Matthew—possibly more. "I asked Anna where you had gone off to. Loyal to the death, she was slow to confess your whereabouts, but she finally revealed you were in London. Then I received a confirmation telegram from the Red Cross about Matthew's return on leave." He took a breath. ""What leave? I asked myself!" He threw his coat over a chair. "It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to put two and two together. I checked Aunt Rosamund's townhouse and when you weren't there, I suspected you may have come here. It was a hunch, but a good one, it turns out. I've been worried sick! About both of you!" He pointed at them with his finger.

Mary and Matthew exchanged a knowing glance. "Robert, please, we can explain."

Robert was seething, his eyes looking back and forth from Matthew to Mary. "I should horsewhip both of you! First you, and then Mary, and then you again!"

"Pa-pa, please! We can explain everything!"

"Really?' He crossed his arms and looked directly at Matthew. "Fine! I'm all ears!"

Mathew ran a finger over his brows. "Well, it's just that…you see." He hesitated, blinking his eyes in thought.

"Yes?" Robert patience was paper thin. He stood, waiting pensively. "Out with it!"

"Pa-pa, please! Lower your voice!" Mary was wringing her hands. She looked back at Matthew imploring him with her eyes to begin explaining. He was a skilled lawyer and she eagerly awaited one of his eloquently worded arguments that would sway judge and jury. Her heart was in her throat.

"Well, you see it all started two days ago," he said, suddenly feeling light headed. "I…was at the front, of course, and…" he paused and raised a hand to his forehead, leaning slightly to one side. He felt perspiration beading along his hairline.

Robert's brows knitted, his fury being replaced by concern. "Matthew?" He reached out. "Steady on." He put a hand on Matthew's arm, and that's when he noticed the red blood strain on the arm of Matthew's uniform.

Mary looked confused. "I don't understand. What's wrong?"

Robert steadied Matthew, bracing his shoulders, supporting him as he sat down on the sofa.

"Matthew? What is it?" She hovered next to him, reaching a hand to his head.

Robert noticed her wedding band but said nothing. "I'll see to him. Go and get the housekeeper and see if she has a first aid kit."

Mary spoke up. "But…"

Her father cut her off. "Go and do what I ask. You may be a married woman now, but I'm still your father. Now do as I say!" Mary nodded and quickly disappeared in search of Mrs. Ambrose.

Robert removed the leather belts of Matthew's uniform and tugged the buttons of his tunic, opening the jacket. He slid it carefully off Matthew's frame, and saw the red blood stain. "Is it a bullet wound?"

Matthew nodded, his head leaned back against the sofa. "Yes. It happened the other day. It only grazed me. It's just a flesh wound." He pulled his necktie lose and untied it, and shrugged his shirt off. "Please don't make too much of it in front of Mary. She'll worry. A least, I think she would."

Robert gently pulled the white bandage back and winced. "Well, it's not infected but it looks like you've pulled one of the stitches."

Matthew spit out a curse. "Blast! Damned thing is a nuisance!"

For the first time Robert's expression softened. "I dare say you're lucky the bloke who did this wasn't a better shot."

Mary returned. A hand flew up to her mouth. "Oh my heavens!"

"Is that the first aid kit?" Mrs. Ambrose nodded and held it out to Robert. He took it and began tending to Matthews arm.

"Dear God," Mary gasped. "What is this?"

Matthew held a hand up. "My dear, it's nothing. It's just a nick."

Mary was astonished and angry. "A nick?" She watched as her father tended to the wound with a cotton ball and antiseptic. "When were you planning to tell me about this?"

"Darling, really, it's noth…"

Robert stopped his ministrations in irritation. "Mary, please. Why don't you and Mrs. Ambrose contact Matthew's family doctor and ask him to come 'round and take a look. I'm quite sure Matthew is right, it's just a flesh wound & it's fine, but it should be looked at." Mary nodded, reluctantly, and turned and left with the housekeeper in tow.

As Robert returned to his medic duties, Matthew took the opportunity to clear the air. "I know we shouldn't have snuck off, but I do love her, Robert, very much; but I think you know that." He paused and glanced at his wound and back up again. "And I'm sure she feels the same way. But if you are truly terribly upset about this marriage, then I understand."

Robert wrapped a clean bandage around Matthew's arm. "She's my daughter, Matthew. She disappeared to God-only-knows-where and I couldn't find her in a large city." He tore a strip of gauze bandage and tied it off in a small bow. "I've been worried sick. Someday when you have a child you'll understand."

Matthew thought about the baby Mary was carrying. He already understood.

Robert went on. "And I arrive here only to learn that the two of you eloped, like some shotgun wed…" he stopped. He looked at Matthew as though something were dawning on him.

Matthew looked up at him, trying to keep his face unreadable. He was breathing fast and swallowed.

Robert just stared at him. "That's it, isn't it?"

Matthew spoke in a whisper. "I don't know what you're talking about?" He laughed nervously again. His mind was reeling from guilt and pain from his arm. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation with Robert. Running off and marrying was one thing; but having to get married was quite another and he knew Robert might really have him shot for it.

Robert looked at him, his mind working to figure it all out. His voice was a whisper. "This elopement—is it because you and Mary had to get married?"

Matthew pressed his lips together in a defiant line. "It's nothing of the sort. We love each other Robert. I already asked for your permission two years ago, which you gave me, and I proposed. We got married today because there's a war on! It changes things, for God's sake, and we didn't want to wait any longer to begin our life together. Nothing more." It was mostly the truth and he waited, hoping—praying—his father-in-law would believe him.

Robert sat down on the coffee table across from him. "And that's the truth?"

"Yes, it is." Matthew wanted to protect Mary and the fragile beginning of their secret she carried inside her.

She appeared in the doorway. "The doctor is on his way. He should be here any minute." She sat down beside Matthew, glancing at the new bandage Robert had applied. She reached a hand up and brushed Matthew's hair from his forehead. "Are you sure you're alright?"

He smiled at her and reached up taking her hand in his, squeezing it comfortingly. "It's quite alright now." He glanced down at the bandage, his voice more upbeat and grateful for a change of subject. "Robert's field dressing is top drawer."

Robert let out a laugh. "I saw a battlefield once, myself. I haven't forgotten everything." Watching them, he relented. He knew Matthew was right—he and Mary loved each other and war has a way of changing things…including parents.

~~0~~

The doctor gave Matthew a clean bill of health, requiring nothing more than a supply of fresh bandages of have on had. Mrs. Ambrose had prepared a roast and Mary and Matthew insisted that Robert stay and share their wedding dinner with them. "Please, Pa-pa," she pleaded with him, "wouldn't you like to share this lovely meal with us and to toast our special day?"

"Well, I should think you prefer to share it alone. Newlyweds don't need their parents loitering about. I know; I've been one."

Matthew supported Mary's argument, thinking she would make a fine lawyer in her own right. "Mary's right. We insist. It would be lovely to have you join us, as the head of our family, to share it with us. Won't you please reconsider?"

The truth was Robert did want to join them, if only for a little dinner. He hadn't eaten all day and wanted to hear about their wedding ceremony. They enjoyed a whiskey in Matthew's father's study and Mary explained about the beautiful church setting and Vicar Edmunds and how she walked down the aisle. Robert smiled and was thankful they had gone to such lengths to be married in church. "Well, thank heavens you went to the trouble to at least be married in church." He sighed, in surrender to their happiness, "I'm just sorry your mother and I were not there to support you and to give our daughter away, as we had always dreamed." He looked down in to his glass. "As I had always dreamed. I won't have another opportunity. Sybil will probably run off with the circus and Edith," he paused and phrased his comment diplomatically, "well, it may be sometime before she finds the right man."

Mary reached over and patted his arm. "Oh, no, I'm sure there will be a Crawley wedding for you and Ma-ma to preside over." She glanced at Matthew and then back at her father. "Perhaps we could have an announcement party?"

Matthew's brows arched in intrigue at the idea. "Oh, yes, that's a wonderful idea!"

Robert rolled his eyes at first, but then as the thought settled in his head he saw its appeal. "I suppose it would be nice to announce it formally. I know your mothers would appreciate the honor to do so." He glanced up at the painting of Isobel with her son over the fireplace.

As they went in to the dining room for dinner, Robert was impressed at the beautiful room. It was elegant; a mix of contemporary and antique surroundings and he smiled to himself thinking how the room reflected the family. But what drew his attention the most were the flowers at the center of the table; a bouquet of fresh white Lilly of the Valley in a short round crystal vase which had been carried earlier in the day by the bride. Mary leaned over and sniffed the bouquet and smiled up at her father. Robert felt his heart thump in his chest at the sight of her happiness—she glowed with it as if she was lit from within. He had never seen her happier.

Despite of the drama of the day, Robert, Earl Grantham, approved.

~~0~~

Mary strolled away from the kitchen, down the hallway, turning lamps off along the way. Her heels clicked on the floor in between the Persian rugs. She smiled to herself, pondering that in her entire life she had never closed a house up for the night; nor had she ever been alone in one, either.

A home…a home that belonged to her and her husband. The realization made Mary feel warm and sparkling all over. Passing the dining room she glanced at her bouquet which still set as the centerpiece. Before turning the chandelier off she leaned over the flowers and breathed in one last whiff for the evening, the exotic aroma delighting her. Their rich sweet fragrance would forever remind her of her wedding day. She gently pulled a stem of the tiny, fragile white blooms from the vase, turned the light switch out, and went in search of Matthew.

Mary wandered up the stairs and saw the light on in Dr. Crawley's dressing room. She mused that it was Matthew's dressing room now, but she would lever change its reference until he did. Peering around the doorway she found him standing in front of a dresser, in his uniform trousers, stocking feet and leisurely pulling his shirt off, leaving him in a white undershirt and his bandaged upper arm. She smiled at catching him, but took a step backward, away from the room.

"Where are you going?" He asked after her.

Mary peered around the doorway again. "I didn't mean to disturb."

He smiled over at her. "You're my wife. You could never disturb me, especially when I am undressing."

His smooth, luxurious voice pulled her closer in to the room. Mary fidgeted with the Lily of the Valley stem in her hand and admired the room as she stepped inside. It was brown and cream with tasteful furniture, a twin bed and an overstuffed club chair under a window that faced the back garden.

Matthew smiled at the sight of the flower in her hand. "According to legend, the Lily of the Valley draws out the nightingale, leading him to choose his mate."

Mary's expression filled with delight. "And did he find her?"

"Yes," he assured her lovingly, "he most certainly did." His eyes were warm and soft. "Is Mrs. Ambrose done for he evening?"

"Yes, Pa-pa is giving her a lift home." Mary sniffed the bloom. "How is your arm?"

He glanced own at the dressing. "Fine. I feel lucky considering that your pa-pa was ready to take me out back and finish what the German soldier failed to accomplish. If you and Mrs. Ambrose hadn't reappeared, Robert would have saved the German army the trouble."

Mary rolled her eyes as she inspected the white bandage. "Don't be so dramatic. He loves you like a son. He never would have shot you…not really seriously anyway." She smirked up at him.

"Ow!" Matthew's voice was a piercing cry.

"Oh, God what is it?!" Mary's hands flew to her mouth. She was suddenly terrified as worry shot straight through to her heart. "Matthew, dearest, where does it hurt?"

His hands tugged her as he plopped on to the bed and burst in to laughter, pulling her toward him. "After three months apart, where do you think it hurts?"

She gasped. "Matthew Crawley!" She acted indignant and was mad, but also secretly relieved. "For heaven's sake you scared me to death! I should shoot you myself!"

He was still laughing. He tumbled back and his head fell back in to the pillow, his blue eyes glistening up at her, filled with the joy he felt. "Come here."

She was exasperated. "Honestly, Matthew, you frightened me!"

"I'm sorry." He tugged her hands playfully and he spoke softly. "_Please_, come here."

She eyed him, letting his hands pull her closer. "You are a rat. I have half a mind to leave you in this dressing room on your own tonight." Mary scolded flirtaciously as she let him pull her again and she leaned over him, gazing down in to his eyes.

His crooked grin indicated he knew better. He whispered suggestively. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm a rat." He leaned up and kissed her. "And I love you so very, very much for telling me." He kissed her again, his lips teasing and enticing her as he whispered deep and seductively. "But if you leave there will be so many things I won't be able to do to you."

Mary acted intrigued. "Oh?" She asked in between lingering kisses. "Such as?"

He smiled up at her alluringly as his hands moved over her rib cage and up her torso. "Such as…this." His fingers tenderly brushed over her breasts, his finger tips tracing circles around them. His eyes boring in to her, his lips brushed against hers as he spoke. "And this…" One of his hands slid slowly and tenderly down her body, slipping under the waist band of her skirt. His movement caused her to intake a breath. He smiled at her reaction. The palm of his hand moved further down, feeling his way over her abdomen and the small swell of fullness that now changed her figure. He suddenly stopped, his eyes looking up at her in surprise. "Oh," he whispered sweetly. "Thats? Our secret?"

She nodded and was momentarily embarrassed. "Yes. Things have changed a bit since the last time…that we…" her voice hitched and trailed off. The feel of her husband's hand moving over her womb, where their child slept, overwhelmed her with love and desire. She was filled with happiness and felt her eyes water.

He smiled up at her. "I'm so glad." He kissed her cheeks and the tears from her skin. "So very glad, my darling."


	11. Chapter 11

Mary was still cocooned under the covers and a duvet and began to wake up at the sound of distant birds beginning their early morning chirp; it provided a soft revile in her ears as she stretched. Her eyes slowly fluttered open. The first thing that came in to focus was the vase with her white bridal flowers, now situated on the nightstand beside the bed. She could smell the sweet fragrance and it made her smile. She stirred in the sheets, luxuriating in the elegant linen and instinctively reached over for Matthew, smiling at how it was already a habit for her to do so; she frowned as her hand only found a cold, empty mattress. She blinked her eyes open wider and looked around, finding him, instead, wearing a dressing gown—and nothing more—sitting on the bench in the bay window. The London Times was propped open on his lap, the venerable publication crinkling as he turned another page. Mary watched his hands, remembering how they had explored her the night before….so intimately and decadently. She pulled the sheet up around her and glanced at the clock on the table. It indicated seven o'clock and she furrowed her brows. "May I ask what you are doing awake at this hour?" She asked as a yawn overtook her.

The paper crunched again as Matthew pulled one side down to look over at her, his expression clearly happy to greet her. He replied in a quiet voice. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm afraid the war has made me an early riser."

She smiled. "Come and give us a kiss." Her whisper was flirtacious.

He reached over and picked up a china cup from an end table and raised it to his lips, eyeing her from the brim. "Goodness, married less then twenty four hours and your already issuing edicts." _Us_ she had said...he loved that Mary was now actually two people; his wife who was carrying his child.

She laughed and cleared her throat trying to erase the morning from her conversation. "Is that coffee? At this hour?" She rubbed an eye. "I thought Mrs. Ambrose wasn't returning until ten?"

"She isn't. I went down stairs and made a pot."

Mary blinked at him in amazement. "You made coffee?"

He smiled at her as he set the paper aside and got up, still holding the china cup by its delicate handle. "Yes, I made a pot of coffee." He sat down on the mattress beside her and held the cup out for her.

Mary leaned up, took the small gold rimmed vessel, and sipped lightly. "Mmmmm…that is quite nice. How did you learn to make coffee? Was it part of your Army training?"

He chuckled. "No it was part of growing up in a household where people have chores and learn to do things, like build a fire in the fireplace, tidy their bedroom, hang pictures, clean lavvies…"

"Clean a lavvy!?"

"Yes and make coffee." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Just as our children will all learn to do."

She handed the cup back to him and let her head plop back on to her pillow. "Why should our children learn to clean a lavvy? We have servants who take care of that."

"Because it will help mold them to be independent people, but will also give them a sense of how to care for a home and what chores are like. It doesn't mean they can't have maids or footmen but they should know how to do those things for themselves, and have an understanding of the hard work that the household servants do." It was his turn to take another sip.

Mary smiled up at him. She didn't agree with him, but respected his reasoning. "The coffee is delicious. Who taught you how to make it?"

He smiled. "My mother. We had a cook, of course, but Mother loved doing a few domestic things. In the morning, while I was having breakfast, I would watch her as she prepared coffee for my father."

She smiled and slid her hands over his arms. "Thank you for bringing my flowers upstairs. They are lovely, but I think they are already wilting a bit."

He leaned over, nuzzling her nose with his. "They are almost as beautiful as the bride who carried them." He kissed her tenderly, their lips lingering and sliding together. His lips still pressed to hers, Matthew reached over and set the coffee cup on the nightstand with a clunk, letting Mary's arms pull him closer. He chuckled in to their kiss. "Again?" He murmured against her lips. "Darling, that would be," he paused as he mentally counted, "four times in seven hours. Twice last night, once in the middle of the night and…"

She sucked tenderly at his lower lip. "You're keeping score or complaining?"

"Neither. But I'm not exactly sixteen."

Her fingers pulled at the sash of his robe. "And you're not exactly ninety…." Her sensuous voice dripped with desire. The sash fell away and his robe opened, and her hands slipped inside and around his body. Matthew's eyes closed at the feel of her curious, eager fingers which sent shivers through him, making his breath hitch as his own arousal stirred again. They kissed slowly and leisurely, rolling over so that she was leaning over him, her mouth trailing hot affectionate kisses over his chin and neck.

"Only if you say it." His voice was playful and tender.

The tip of her tongue lovingly grazed his warm skin. "You know I do. I truly do." She purred against him.

His fingers slipped in to her hair, finding the long braid. He toyed and tugged at it until the ribbon fell loose, and he slid his fingers through it until her hair cascaded over her shoulders. The tips of her hair tickled his chest as her warm body spread over him like a blanket of flesh. Her tongue circled its way around his navel, wet and enticing, making him chuckle and hard at the same time. "Come here," he whispered as he gently caressed one of her ears prompting her to return to their kiss. Her mouth was as hungry as his, their tongues swirling together in a deep, probing kiss, their desire enveloping them.

Mary shuddered as she felt his warm, loving fingers unfold her center, already pooling slick with need for him. Her legs fell around his hips, spreading her open to him, and in one effortless motion they were joined as his body slid deep inside her. He moaned in to her mouth and she moved her hips and sat up to tug her nightgown over her head.

"Oh, God." He exhaled, his voice filled with erotic fog, shrouding him with lust and adoration for the only woman who could make him feel this abandoned. His fingers traced over the small swell of her abdomen, up her ribcage and over her nipples, and he leaned up so that his mouth could follow his hands. As Mary moved, her hair tumbled wantonly over her shoulders and partially shrouded her face. Her eyes were closed in pleasure, losing herself in the feel of their bodies and his mouth. Her hands cupped his head, her fingers fisting his soft hair. Her head fell back on her shoulders, bobbing in a suspended point of no return.

"I love you," he groaned and whispered in the velvet valley between her breasts, trailing soft kisses over her skin. He slowly fell back in to the mattress and his hands gripped her hips to guide her and urge her movements. His knees bent, his own body rising up to meet her with every churn of her exquisite center. She watched his face as she moved, her hips grinding against him. His brows wrinkled and his expression grimaced in bridled passion as though Mary's body were giving and taking something from him all at once.

"I want to see you." She panted breathlessly.

He eyed her erotically. "No." He clenched his jaw to restrain his need.

"What?" Her hair bounced against her damp skin with her efforts. His hips were thrusting up against her faster, causing her to shudder as she rode him.

"Not…until…you…say…it." He was close. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

Mary felt herself slipping. "It?" Her eyes closed as euphoria filled her heart.

He clasped her hands tightly and tugged her down until she was braced above him. "That you love me." He breathed the words tantalizingly deep. Her mouth inches from his and her breasts pressed against him, heat evaporating between them. It took everything within him to deny his own climax.

She whimpered in frustration. "Oh, darling," she worked to hold back, "you know that I do!" She panted in reassurance.

"Please, say it." He moaned in between his pleas. "Tell me…."

Her body still moving with his, his hard arousal buried inside of her, she looked deep in to his eyes. In the morning dawn they sparkled up at her, bluer than blue, his orgasm burning just inside the black pupils. "Yes, I love you so much..." She was slipping in to an abyss, on the edge of a fall to the other side as the words tumbled out of her and she shook apart. "Dear God I've loved you since the moment I saw you!"

As the confession left her lips, his head arched back in to the pillow, his own cry of love pouring out of him. Together they fell, crashing in to each other, their cries of love and passion interwoven in to one voice, and their bodies quivered with ecstasy and surrender. She shuddered above him and their voices echoed together, around them.

His warm arms pulled her against him. Laying on top of him, they both panted and sighed, softly humming, breathing deeply together. His hands caressed her back. "I love you, too." He whispered affectionately, catching his breath. "Both of you."

As the room and the house fell silent once more, Mary could hear his heart beating and the birds singing again. She smiled at the comforting sounds and the privacy they shared in the Manchester house; a privacy they would never have at Downton. "I know I don't tell you as much as I should, but I do love you." She kissed his chest.

His hand smoothed over her hair. "I know you do. I just need to hear it now and again. Thank you."

"Are you thanking me for the endearment or…the rest of it?" She propped her chin on his chest and smiled up at him mischievously. "I'm the one who should be thanking you." Her eyes bore in to him. "So wonderful."

A smile slowly crept across his face as he realized her compliment. "Really?"

She nodded and rested her cheek against his chest. "Yes." A bright smile lit her face. "Oh, yes." She sighed contentedly and hugged him.

Matthew closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her close. He was happier than he had ever been in his life, brimming over with love and hope and new life. It was the last thing he remembered as he drifted back to sleep.

~~0~~

The train sped through the lush English countryside and Robert sat across from Mary and Matthew in their First Class compartment. He glanced out the window at rolling pastures dotted with sheep and grey shale hedgerows. He looked back down at the article he was only sort of reading in the Times. He turned the page and looked up to say something, but stopped.

Matthew was sound asleep, his head leaning back against the seat and the wall. Mary was also napping, her head resting against his shoulder. One of her hands was clasped in his, and the other rested over her middle.

Robert eyed them, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. He remembered being newly married and the desire he and Cora had found together; Mary had appeared in no time. The memory pulled at his heart and he felt a need to pick up a bouquet of flowers to take home to Cora to remind her that he loved her, and possibly to help smooth over the news of Mary's elopement.

He sighed, opening his paper again, burying his face in the print. A part of him was still suspicious of the rushed nuptials and concerned due to the war; but another part of him, his youthful heart, was completely and utterly delighted.

The whistle of the train softly sounded, steam trailing from his stack as it took them home to Downton.

* * *

**A/N ** Thank you for reading the story and for all of your reviews and input! You are all so kind to stick with this sweet little revision of S2. :)


	12. Chapter 12

Downton Abbey - Mary & Matthew's Announcement Party

Mary held a glass of champagne and smiled as she greeted another guest, an acquaintance of her parents. She made polite small-talk, but her eyes were more interested in Matthew who stood across the room. He was wearing his formal military mess kit with the scarlet jacket. He was surrounded by a group of other officers, similarly dressed in red jackets; they all laughed and joked merrily, some clapping him on the back in good natured congratulations. At one point they circled the grand piano in the corner of Downton's elegant ballroom and sang a boisterous rendition of It's a Long Way to Tipperary, followed by more champagne, several toasts, cigars and laughter.

Mary smiled as she watched. She returned to her mundane chatter with the unknown guest, fidgeting with her dress which was too snug due to her secret condition. When she looked back up to find Matthew, he had disappeared. "Pardon me," she said nonchalantly to her guest as she turned in search of her husband.

Walking away from the ballroom, Mary followed the grand hallway toward the saloon. The sapphire blue gown she wore was one of two she had in her closet that she hadn't worn yet; the other one was red. She knew Matthew loved her in red, but she felt the dark midnight blue would be a nicer contrast with his red jacket and would reflect the blue of his eyes when they stood beside each other. But the dress was beginning to pinch. As she walked in the secluded part of the house, she glanced around to make sure no one was around, and then pulled on the waist of the gown. "Damned thing." She cursed to herself as she adjusted the dress and sucked in a breath.

This side of the house was quiet, save for the occasional footman. She headed toward the library, where she found Matthew. He was reclined on the red divan, his head lounged back against the furniture and his long legs casually stretched out. His eyes were closed and he was softly humming a tune.

"Matthew?" Mary asked softly as she stepped over to him.

"Mmmm?" He murmured back as his hand reached up and scratched his nose.

"Are you alright, darling?" She touched a hand gently to his forehead.

He stirred, smiling as he moved. "Yes, yes, of course. I just had a little too much roast duckling."

Mary eyed him. "Roast duck? " She arched a brow. "I see. Are you sure it wasn't the champagne?"

He huffed out a laugh and his eyes peeked open at her. "Maybe." He let his eyes rover over her, his voice lowering in to deep decadent foreplay . "God, you look good enough to eat in that dress."

Mary's eyes flew open. "Matthew!" She whispered urgently as she glanced over her shoulder. "Have you taken leave of your senses! For heaven's sake, someone might hear you!"

He reached over and tugged her hand teasingly. "I'm a bridegroom and you are my bride. There isn't a gentleman or a lady in that ballroom who haven't done precisely what I want to do to you right now."

Mary gasped and snatched her hand out of his. "Have you lost your mind?!"

A voice suddenly came from the doorway. "Has who lost whose mind?"

Mary spun around to find Isobel. "Oh, Isobel, thank heaven it's just you!"

Isobel's beautiful black evening gown sparkled as she moved. "What is it?" Her tone was filled with merriment and warmth. "What's going on?" She saw Matthew reclined on the sofa. "Is there something wrong?"

Mary leaned over to her new mother in law. "Matthew is intoxicated."

He rolled his eyes. "I am _not_ intoxicated."

Mary huffed. "Well what would you call it then?"

He smiled mischievously up at her. "I am inebriated, not intoxicated. There's a difference."

"Who's intoxicated?" Violet's voice came from the doorway as she entered. Her gown made a swishing sound as she joined the others by the divan. She topped beside Mary, propping both hands on the silver grip of her cane. "What is it?"

Isobel smiled and sighed. "Matthew is intoxicated."

He sat up and tried to straighten his jacket. "Mother, for God's sake, I am not intoxicated." He blinked his eyes and raised a hand to his head and chuckled. "What the devil was I saying?"

Mary let out a breath. "Oh, Lord, this is a nightmare! There is a ballroom full of guests we are supposed to say goodnight to."

Matthew flopped back in to the divan and held a hand out to Mary. "Come here my darling." His voice became a low and daring purr. "I'll bet you taste like champagne."

Isobel gasped in stunned but amused surprise. "Matthew Reginald Crawley!"

Violet raised hand to her chest. "Oh, dear me! Yes, there can be no further interaction with guests!" She caught her breath. "If we don't do something soon I'll need my smelling salts!"

Isobel looked exasperated. "Bridegroom or not, you apologize this instant young man!" She squared her shoulders.

Violet turned to Mary. "Go and find Carson. Cousin Isobel and I will take care of Matthew."

"But…" Mary wanted to stay.

Violet raised a hand. "No, no," she insisted, "now don't fret. You find Carson and tell him we need his assistance straight away, and Isobel and I will manage things here." Mary sighed and nodded, hastily dashing toward the door and off to find her favorite butler.

Matthew giggled again and looked at Violet. "I apologize, Cousin Violet."

Violet waved him off with an empathetic smile. "It's quite alright. If a young officer, home from the war, cannot profess his affection for his bride, than what are we at war for in the first place?"

He turned toward Isobel. "I'm sorry Ma-ma." Isobel smiled—he had called her ma-ma as boy growing up. He looked at her with gentle sweet eyes. "I'm a bit for the worse from too much champagne. Please forgive me."

She softened at her son's heartfelt sentiment. "It's alright."

He smiled up at her. "I'm just so happy."

"I know." Isobel patted his shoulder and brushed several strands of blond hair from his forehead. "It's alright my darling."

Matthew rambled on, light-hearted from the champagne. "You see, I'm going to be a father…"

"Of course you will, dear. You and Mary will have lovely children." Her voice as filled with affection.

"No, no. I mean I'm going to be a father…." As he spoke, Isobel and Violet exchanged glances.

Violet looked at Isobel and then back at Matthew. "You mean to say that Mary is…"

"Yes!" He laughed with joy as he said it. "Isn't it wonderful?" He leaned over to the coffee table and retrieved his champagne glass which still held a slip of gold liquid and bubbles, sipping happily. He flopped back against the cushions, his hair over his forehead, chuckling and humming, loving the way the bubbles tickled his nose. "It's so, so wonderful. In just six months I'll be a father!"

Isobel and Violet looked at each other and shared a knowing glance. Violet silently mouthed the words "six months" to Isobel.

Matthew smiled and spoke more quietly. "If anything should happen to me, if I don't come back, a part of me will live on, here, with Mary." He leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling in thought. "If it's a girl I hope she looks just like her mother with beautiful dark hair and warm brown eyes."

Isobel motioned at Violet and started to say something but before they could discuss the revelation Mary returned with Carson in tow, announcing their arrival. "Here we are!"

Isobel smiled. "Mr. Carson! Thank Heavens! It seems we need your assistance."

"Certainly, Mrs. Crawley. I am at your disposal."

Matthew looked up at Mary who stood behind the sofa. He reached up and tugged her arm. "Take me upstairs my darling and have your way with me."

As Violet, Isobel and Carson stared at her, Mary Crawley took the champagne glass from her husband's hand and took a tiny sip of the bubbles in hopes they would cool her blushing cheeks and prevent her from dying of embarrassment.

* * *

Matthew woke up at the deafening sound of birds chirping outside the bedroom window. The annoying chatter buzzed around him as his head throbbed. He frowned and his eyelids slowly opened at half mast, allowing the morning sun to flash in to his eyes. "Jesus," he breathed out, shielding his eyes with one of his hands.

He peeked around to find himself stretched out, alone, on a bed. He recognized right away that he was in the room adjacent to Mary's. He was still wearing his black evening trousers and white dress shirt. His red jacket and white tie had been neatly hung on a gentleman's armoire in the corner; no doubt, he presumed, thanks to Carson. He glanced to the night stand and saw a large glass of water and a small jar of aspirin powder. He sat up and immediately raised a hand to his head, feeling dizzy and generally out of sorts. "Dear, God," he murmured to himself as he sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for the cool drink and the aspirin powder. The sound of the door flying open pounded through his head, which he lowered in to one of his hands.

Mary stood with a hand on the door knob. "Ah, I see the life of the party has finally decided to rejoin the living."

He spoke without looking up at her. "Please, darling, my head is killing me."

"Good!" She folded her arms across her chest. "You made a complete spectacle of yourself last night!"

"Yes, so my head is informing me." He mumbled as he sprinkled the aspirin powder in to the water and took a long sip from the glass, his hair tousled all around his head.

"Your hair looks like a bird's nest." Mary was peeved but was taking delight in teasing him at his own expense. "Do you remember leading the sing-song 'round the piano of It's a Long, Long Way to Tipperary…._five times_? If I never hear that blasted tune again it will be too soon."

He nodded with bleary eyes. "Yes, yes…I seem to recall that. Well it was a party, after all, was it not? You do know that usually means a bit of revelry?"

She tapped an impatient finger against her arm. "Does that include kissing Margaret Framingham?"

Matthew's brows went up in questioning intrigue as he looked up at her. "The Baron's brunette daughter?"

"No, his silver-haired ninety year old grandmother, the Countess, who had to borrow Granny's smelling salts after you kissed her and made some off-color remark about if she were only fifty years younger."

He winced and set the glass down on the nightstand with a thud. "Oh, God."

"I hope you're proud of yourself." Mary took a step closer. "And how about the display you put on in the library?"

"Please, Mary," he held up a hand, "do we have to review the entire evening? It couldn't have been that bad."

"You put your cigar out in my mother's coffee cup."

He flopped back on the mattress, pinching his nose with his fingers. "Oh, dear God…"

"Well, do you recall the library?" She walked around to the other side of the bed, taking a stance and looking down at him. His pale blue eyes were bloodshot as he blinked up at her. She put her hands on her hips and whispered in a restrained tone. "You made indecent overtures to me right in front of Granny & your mother!"

He sighed and closed his red eyes, gently rolling his head. "Well it couldn't have been that indecent. I'm your husband for God's Sake!"

"Oh really?" She huffed. "You said you thought I tasted like champagne and told me to take you upstairs so I could have my way with you!"

He winced again and rolled on to one side. "My side arm is in my luggage. Just be done with it and shoot me."

"Poor Granny. Carson had to pour her a whisky!"

He mumbled. "I'll apologize to both of them at breakfast. I promise."

"Breakfast was three hours ago. You'll have to apologize at luncheon."

He looked at his watch. "Good Lord, it's after ten?" He tried to sit up but his head began throbbing again and he felt nauseated. He flopped back down on the mattress with a loud exhale. He looked up at Mary, apologetically. "I really am sorry, Mary, truly I am."

"As you should be." She tutted. "There I was – the bride-saying goodnight to Ma-ma's and Pa-pa's guests without my husband." She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes in exasperation.

The trace of a grin returned to his face. "But it was a lovely reception, wasn't it? Can you ever forgive me?"

Looking down at him, Mary could see the hangover in his eyes. Her voice softened as she reached down and brushed a lock of hair from his brow. "Yes, I suppose." A trace of a smile pulled at her lips. "It was a lovely party." As her fingertips stroked over his forehead his eyes closed and he turned his head and kissed her hand.

He opened his eyes and smiled up at her. "Well? Did you?"

She smiled back down at him, her voice deep and soothing. "Did I what?" Her fingers continued caressing his brow.

His eyes were playful. "Have your way with me?" He took her hand in his and kissed it, placing warm kisses in her palm like tiny, soft, intimate offerings.

She rolled her eyes in jest. "Oh honestly, Matthew, I hardly think so. When we were pouring you in to bed, you kissed Carson." He laughed, egging her on. "Speaking of Carson," she said, "what else did you talk about with Granny and your mother when I left the library to fetch him?"

He blinked as he thought about it, trying to remember. "I can't remember. Why do you ask?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. They just seemed funny afterward. It's probably nothing."

~~00~~

After a hot bath and dressing in a crisp dark blue suit, Matthew caught Violet in the dining room, buttering a role. "Good Afternoon Cousin Violet." He said slightly awkwardly, but with the aplomb of a diplomat. "I was hoping I would find you here."

"Good afternoon, Matthew. You look as shiny as new penny!" She liked him and it showed in her reserved smile.

"Thank you." He cleared his throat. "I believe I owe you an apology and I'd like to convey my sincerest regret for my comportment last night." He straightened his necktie as he tried to smooth things over.

Violet sipped her tea and smiled as she set her cup down daintily. "Don't be silly. You don't owe anyone anything of the sort."

"Well I understand I may have offended Countess Framingham."

"Offended? On the contrary. After I shared my smelling salts with Philene she said it was the most fun she's had since New Year's Eve back in sixty-eight. She even made a generous donation to the cottage hospital." The Dowager let her lips curl up in to a cunning grin as took another sip of tea eyeing Matthew.

He arched a brow. "Is that so? Well, I'm glad I haven't completely destroyed the family reputation."

"Not at all," she confirmed encouragingly. "By the way I enjoyed our conversation in the library." She took a bite of her role as she eyed him, waiting to see if he remembered.

He looked at her politely but his expression was a question mark. "Yes, I always enjoy our time together."

"As do I, dear boy. As do I."

~~00~~

Matthew found Mary reading, seated on the bench by the tree where they had spent so many pleasant afternoons years before. Her head was drooping to one shoulder and as he approached he realized she had nodded off. The book in her hand was slipping off to one side, only her fingertips kept it from falling. He reached down and gently slid the book out of her hand. He flipped the cover over and read the title, Sons and Lovers by D.H Lawrence. He raised a brow at her literary selection, both surprised and intrigued.

Mary mumbled as she began to awake from her nap. "Hello." She said sleepily looking up at him, her eyes still dreaming. He smiled and sat down beside her, sliding an arm around behind her. Her head dropped on to his shoulder, where her cheek rested. "I love you so very much," she murmured against him as she curled in to his side.

He kissed her hair. Sleepy and compliant Mary was one of his favorite people. "Only one more day and I have to go back."

He could feel her tense in his arm. Her eyes peered up at him. "Please don't take away my dream just yet."

He looked down at her and they shared a sad smile. "I know the family wants to see me off, but what do you say about returning to London alone? We could spend tomorrow night at The Swan?"

She sighed approvingly and her cheek brushed against the fabric of his jacket as she nodded. "Yes, I'd like that." She kissed his jaw. "And so would the baby."

"How is our little secret today?" He asked in a hushed tone.

"Sleepy."

He kissed her forehead. "It's settled then. I'll explain everything to Robert and make arrangements for us to spend tomorrow in London. My train doesn't leave until the following morning."

When she said nothing, he looked down at her. Mary had already dozed off again in his arms. He sat happily and rested his head against hers. As he looked out over the estate, warm in each others arms, Matthew looked out over the expansive grounds. The view was glorious and the musical chatter of birds was now a welcome sound to him again. They had London, and a child, to look forward to.

No matter what the future held, he would always cherish this as the happiest time in his life.

* * *

**A/N** Greetings All! I'm terribly sorry I've been remiss in posting chapters more frequently. I've been distracted by work, and a recent trip to Middleberg, VA where I had a chance to meet fellow twitter/tumblr posse members, haslmere & alittlemention! Such nice ladies! :) My gameplan is to complete this story this weekend, so more to come shortly. As always, thank you for reading. Smiles to you all! LE. :)


	13. Chapter 13

As the train cut through the rolling English countryside, Mary sat looking out the large picture window of the First Class compartment. Her eyes darted over at Matthew, who sat across from her. He was dressed in his uniform and sat reclined with his head back against the seat, lightly napping. His shoulders looked broad and firm under the tunic of his uniform. Mary looked at the features of his face, his jaw line, the way his eyelashes rested against his cheeks and the shape of his mouth. She closed her eyes remembering the feel of his soft lips against hers, the way they felt when he grazed his mouth over her body, teasing her to heights of arousal until she pleaded with him to take her.

The train jerked on the track, gently snapping her out of her memory and back to their coach. Mary swallowed thickly and smoothed her hands over her lap. She looked back over at Matthew. He hadn't moved, still resting leisurely, his head bobbing from side to side with the movement of the train. His hands rested in his lap and Mary assessed how relaxed they appeared. As he dozed, unawares, she couldn't help but stare at his lap, noticing the way his trousers fit over his form as he rested. The memory of his body filled her thoughts.

She took a deep breath and stood up, balancing herself with one hand against the wall. She took a step toward him and Matthew's legs parted at the sensation of her presence. She leaned over him, her hands braced on the back of the seat behind him. Leaning down, her face inches from his, Mary licked her lips.

Matthew's eyes slowly opened and he peered up at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was unfazed by her attention, his bright blue eyes gazing up at her without a hint of hesitation. "Something on your mind?" He asked teasingly.

"Yes," she said brushing her nose against his, her voice sultry and rich, "my husband."

"Oh?" He answered, his breath mingling with hers. He suddenly felt one of her fingertips tracing a line up the inseam of his pants. His lips parted. "Mary…." He was cut off by her lips as she kissed him. Mary's warm mouth pulled a moan from him. "Mary, please," he murmured between moist kisses, his protests sounding empty and more like seductive pleas.

She brushed her mouth over his, her tongue grazing his lower lip. "We're all alone. The trip to Kings Cross is nearly two hours."

"You can't possibly…" he was cut off again by her mouth covering his. His heavy breathing betrayed his words. The train rocked, prompting Mary to slide in to his lap. The feel of her weight against him caused Matthew to gasp in to her mouth. His arms went around her waist, pulling her more firmly against him.

One of her hands went in to his thick hair. She let her lips trail from his mouth over his cheek. "Matthew." Her voice was breathless against him. "Please…."

His head felt foggy and light, drunk with arousal. "Darling, I want nothing more, but we can't. Not like this….not here." But the truth was he was already contemplating the corner of the compartment which would be private and out of view of the small window in the door.

One of her hands slid downward in to the warmth of his lap, between his thighs. As her hand moved she lightly kissed the shell of his ear. "Matthew, I can't wait two hours."

His breath hitched at her ministrations. He chuckled and was swallowing air trying to keep his composure. "God, Mary, please. The conductor will come by at any minute!" The tip of her tongue touched his ear lobe and his head fell back against the seat. He felt his resolve slipping away as his body responded more urgently to the feel of her hands and mouth, and her breathless whispers against his ear. "Mary…darling." He was silenced as her mouth found his again for a long kiss, her tongue exploring him. He was hard and ached for her.

Train entered a tunnel, plunging the compartment in to darkness and the motion rocked Mary's body against him. Matthew's hand moved over her skirt, his palm stroking over her hip, pulling her closer in to his lap, rising up to meet her. His free hand slid up, underneath her jacket, gently cupping her breast. She moaned against him, her fingers feeling for the laces at the front of his pants. He whimpered in to her mouth.

Light entered the car again as the train passed through the tunnel. He paused and looked at her. Mary's eyes were glazed over with passion, her lips rosy from kisses and lust. As he smiled at her his thumb brushed over the outline of her nipple under her blouse, and her eyes slid shut as she felt shivers of desire course through her. Just watching her could almost make him….

The sound of the train whistle sang through the compartment and footsteps thumped softly in the aisle outside as the conductor arrived. Mary blinked her eyes and scrambled out of his lap and back in to her seat across from him. Matthew sat up straight again, reaching up and smoothing his hair with his hand. He looked up just in time as the conductor entered the compartment.

"Good morning sir!" The older man was dressed in a black British Rail uniform and hat, and had a silver mustache. He looked back and forth from Matthew to Mary and back again. "Is everything alright sir?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Why wouldn't it be?" Matthew replied huffing out an awkward laugh, setting his wheel cap on top of his lap. "My wife was just pointing out that since I've been home on leave my hair is no longer within Army regulations." He reached in to his breast pocket for their tickets and pulled them out. He glanced over at Mary.

The conductor smiled as he examined the tickets. "On your way back to France then, sir?"

Mary realized one of the buttons of her blouse had come undone. She carefully re-buttoned it hoping neither man would notice.

"Yes, that's right." Matthew found his composure again and was able to speak normally. He glared over at Mary, who was trying to nonchalantly button her blouse, and then back at the conductor.

"We'll all be glad when it's over, sir." The older man finished punch stamping the tickets and offered them back to Matthew. "Here you are. Best of luck to you, Lieutenant." He smiled, tipped his hat to Mary, and stepped back out of the compartment, shutting the door behind him with a click. When he was gone, Matthew slumped back in to his seat with a long sigh. Mary smirked and started to get up again. Matthew held a hand up stopping her in her tracks. "Oh, no you don't!"

She laughed. "He is gone, darling, so we'll be all alone until Kings Cross."

He nudged her carefully back in to her seat, whispering through his teeth. "I would prefer it if you would sit right where you are for the duration of our trip."

Mary rolled her eyes. "But…"

"Not one peep out of you!" He tugged on the front of his tunic, ensuring it was properly in place. "We could have been thrown off this train for indecency, or worse!" He let out a long sigh, looking at her from under his brow. "I'm an officer, for God's sake! We almost…almost…." He took a breath. "The military has rules about that sort of thing, not to mention public indecency is against the law! For the love of God, I'm an attorney!"

"Oh for heaven's sake, Matthew, stop reciting your curriculum vitae!" Mary sighed and smiled demurely. "Besides, I am your wife after all. Is it indecent if it is with your wife?"

He pressed his lips together and raked a hand through his hair, putting it all in place. "That is beside the point."

"They cannot possibly have rules about wives, do they?" She smoothed her hands over her skirt. "Can't I just sit beside you?" She gazed at him, cocking her head to one side. "I promise I'll keep my hands to myself."

He stuck his chin out and sniffed the air in a superior manner. "It's out of the question." He let out an exasperated breath and eyed her, a glimmer still visible in his expression.

Mary turned her attention back to the window, the view a picture landscape of farms and hamlets. She glanced over at him again. "Did I tell you that my sisters and I went in to Ripon while we were home? We went shopping."

He welcomed the small talk in an attempt to divert his thoughts and the blood flow in his body. "Is that so? And did you find anything you liked?"

"As a matter of fact I did." She held his gaze. "And I think it's something you'll like as well."

He smiled. "Oh?"

Her voice softened to a whisper. "A black negligee. It barely leaves anything to one's imagination."

Matthew clenched his teeth and ran a finger inside the collar of his shirt and glared at her from the side of his eyes. He closed his eyes in exasperation again but all he could see was the vision of Mary in a black night gown.

* * *

The Swan Hotel

As Mary's eyes slowly opened, the bluish glow of the early morning sun was just beginning to filter through the curtains of their room at the Swan. The sheets felt cool against her bare skin as she turned under the covers, peering around the room. Matthew was nowhere in sight but she suspected he was probably downstairs in search of coffee and sustenance. She felt something around her ankles and, reaching down under the covers, pulled up the black negligee. She blushed remembering it how it found its way to the foot of the bed.

As she glanced around the room, evidence of the previous night's activities was everywhere. A dinner tray sat in a corner as they never made it downstairs to the dining room. Pieces of his uniform were strewn in a trail from the door to the mahogany chest of drawers, where an empty vase still lay tipped over. She closed her eyes at the memory….

He had practically slammed the door behind them, ripping his jacket off and then his necktie. Mary had barely set her purse on the chest when he pushed her up on top of it, covering her mouth with his. "Oh, God," he had whimpered against her lips as he lifted her skirt by the hem, up and over her hips. His fingers found their way beneath her knickers, while his other hand worked the laces of his trousers. Mary felt herself dripping in to his hand and leaned backward, opening herself to him. She reclined back on to the dresser and within seconds he was embedded inside her, her body rocking from his urgent movements as he took her. Her whole body tingled and shuddered and only moments had passed when he cried out, his release exploding and filling her. She held on to him as his body jerked and shook with orgasm, until he fell quiet, panting against her.

The sound of the door opening brought her back to the present. She looked over her shoulder to find Matthew balancing a tray that softly clattered with a coffee pot, two cups and several plates. He used his foot to shut the door behind him as quietly as he could and set the tray down on the night stand beside the bed. "Good morning," he said sweetly to her. "You look prettier than sunshine."

She smiled, loving his little endearments. "I wondered where you'd gone to. I would have done that you know."

He smiled as he poured dark, steaming coffee in to a cup. "I don't mind, really. It gave me a chance to thank Mrs. Martin." He held the cup out to Mary.

She sat up against the headboard, the sheet around her, and took the cup. She inhaled as she sipped the brew. "Mmmm…that's wonderful. What else have you got there?" She asked peering at the tray.

He lifted the napkin off one of the plates revealing a hot breakfast. "For you, eggs lightly scrambled just the way you like them with fruit and dry toast."

Mary smiled. "Oh, good. I'm starved!"

"And for me," he continued, "Three eggs, buttered toast, potatoes, a kipper, naturally, and bangers." He eyed Mary mischievously as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Would you like to nibble my banger, darling?"

Mary's eyes widened. "Matthew!"

"Oh, wait," he paused in mock thought, speaking in a low suggestive tone, "you already did that last night. Several times as I recall."

She gasped. "Matthew Reginald Crawley!" She put her plate down with a clatter and put her napkin up to her face. "Honestly!"

He smirked at her and yanked on the napkin, pulling it away from her eyes. "You are beet red."

"Well, honestly, Matthew!" She patted the napkin against her cheek. "People shouldn't say such things."

"Don't be such an aristocrat all the time." He grinned as he ate. "We're not people, Mary, we're husband and wife. Remember?"

"Well, yes, but still…"

He picked up her plate and held it out o her. "C'mon now, have something to eat. I'm sure our little secret is hungry, too."

She took a breath along with the plate and speared a strawberry with her fork. "I'm famished if you must know." She munched around the red berry. "And that brings me to another order of business."

"Oh?" His eyes were drawn to her mouth. The strawberry had made her lips red and shiny. He had to fight the desire to lean over and lick the juice from her mouth. "What's that?"

"Well, we haven't talked about a name. I was thinking of Robert or Reginald, after our fathers, or we could name him after you. What do you think?"

He took a sip of coffee. "Well, those are lovely names, but what if it's a girl?"

Mary stopped mid-chew. "Oh, Lord, I hope not."

He froze and frowned. "Why would you say such a thing?"

"Because if it's a boy we'll have done our duty. You would have a son and heir."

"Stop it," he said, setting his plate down. "Please don't say that."

"But it's the truth isn't it?"

"No!" He took her plate from her hand and set it down and leaned closer to her. "Listen to me, Mary, you mustn't say such a thing if it is a girl." He looked her directly in the eye. "If I don't come home, I couldn't bear the thought of you saying such a thing about a daughter. Promise me you won't"

She looked in to his eyes and saw his sincerity, one of the things she loved most about him. "Alright. I promise." She said a quiet voice. She meant it.

"I would never want a daughter to feel as though she wasn't wanted or loved. I know Downton is everything to you, but I couldn't care less about the estate when it comes to our children. All I want are happy, healthy babies who love to laugh, and read, and will be surrounded by friends. I want to lie in bed and have them draped around me like puppies. And it won't matter in the least to me if they are girls or boys because I'll love them all the same."

Mary could envision Matthew lounging in bed in his dressing gown with several children beside him and she felt a flutter in her body. She instinctively put a hand on her tummy. "What will you read to them?"

His smile returned and he was lost in thought for a moment before answering. "Peter Pan. And we'll act out all the parts together!"

Mary playfully frowned. "We'll there are at least six major characters, exactly how many children are you planning on having?"

He could no longer resist kissing the berry juice from her lips. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers affectionately, his tongue tenderly lapping at her. "As many as I can make inside of you." He said tasting the strawberry essence in their kiss.

"Matthew!" She said in a huffed surprise.

"All those little ducklings followed you out of St. James Lake. You're a natural." He chuckled against her mouth. "Alright, we'll compromise. Five."

"Five?!" Mary gasped and chuckled at the same time, rolling away from him and burying herself in the covers. "I'm not a chicken for heaven's sake!"

He leaned over her, still kissing the side of her face. "Alright. Four, tops."

She giggled as he pulled the sheet down, revealing her back to him. He kissed her neck. "Well at the rate we're going you can't possibly think it will be any less than four, can you?"

She laughed in to the mattress. "Well, then I'll have no other choice but to cut you off."

He placed soft gentle kisses from her neck to her shoulder blades as he worked his way down her spine, whispering as he moved. "...said the woman who seduced me on the train."

* * *

**A/N** Epilogue on it's way!


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N** Thank you all for your kind reviews! I wasn't planning to write another chapter, but so many of you requested it, here it is! :)

* * *

Downton Abbey – 4 Weeks Later

Mary sat with her mouth agape, incredulous. "I knew it! I knew Matthew blabbed something to you two that night in the library, that squealer!" She felt embarrassed and infuriated all at once. A headache began to throb behind her eyes.

Violet beat Isobel to the heir's defense. "Now, Mary, please, you must not blame Matthew!"

Isobel chimed in, speaking in a low voice. "Yes, Cousin Violet is quite right! We practically dragged it out of him, pour lad!"

"Yes, yes," Violet said, "we dragged it out of him that night like wild horses!"

"Pour lad, my foot!" Mary tutted and rolled her eyes. "More like three bottles of French champagne bubbled it out of him!" She crossed her arms as she regarded the two older women defiantly and shook her head, which now throbbed even more. "Good Lord what you must think of me. _Of us_!"

"Oh, please don't be embarrassed, my dear." Isobel's tone was kind and sincere. "These things happen in time of war. Don't they Cousin Violet?"

"Yes, yes, indeed!" Violet lowered her voice to a whisper. "Some of Britain's finest families have seen young love and wedding nuptials, shall we say, _reprioritized_, due to military duties."

Mary had a sarcastic look on her face. "Oh, really?" She asked, not believing it. "Name one."

Violet glanced around her shoulder and back again. "Even in our own fold, my dear." Isobel and Mary were now both staring at Violet with wide eyes.

Mary was incredulous. "You cannot possibly be saying…" She paused and saw Violet's earnest expression. Her arms dropped to her side again. "But who?"

Violet looked at Isobel and then back at Mary. "Remember Great Aunt Patricia?" The library was silent as her words floated toward the two women, a long lost secret suddenly awaking again.

Mary's eyes widened in astonishment. "Auntie Patti? Dear old Aunt Patticakes with the silver bun and ropes of pearls?"

Violet pursed her lips. "Don't judge a book by its cover, my dear." Violet nodded reservedly. "Yes, well she met her husband, Sir John Burrows, when he was a Captain in the Royal Guards. During their engagement John received a sudden post to India for three months and Patti's father refused to permit them to marry before he left." Violet took a seat and rested her hands on her cane. "When he returned their wedding was a small elegant affair, and their first child, George, was born about six months later."

Mary sat in amazement. "I can't believe it! Dear old Aunt Patti? How did she explain the early delivery?"

"Coincidentally, Patti was an expert horse woman. She and one of her sisters conspired to attend an equestrian event around the time of the birth." She lowered her voice to a hush. "They feigned a slip in the stables, and the rest was history."

"They trumped up an accident? A lie?" Mary sat pondering the revelation.

"Well, it was a little white lie, I'm sure." Isobel patted her hand. "Such a white lie spared Lady Patricia's parents any unnecessary stress, to be sure."

"Absolutely!" Violet added. "And Aunt Patti & Uncle John were happily married for nearly fifty years, and had two more children." Violet lightly tapped the cane on the floor as if to put a fine point on her premise.

"Are you reminiscing about Great Aunt Patti?" Robert's voice announced his arrival from the other side of the library. As he walked toward them he tossed several bills on to the desk.

The women looked over at Robert. Violet glanced from Isobel back to her son. "Yes, we were just chatting with Mary that both she and Aunt Patti share a love of equestrian pursuits. Weren't we Cousin Isobel?"

"Yes, that's right," Isobel nodded in agreement.

Robert picked up a tea cup and saucer from the silver slaver and poured hot tea in to the gold-rimmed china cup. "Yes, as I recall she was quite a horsewoman." He pasued and thought for a moment. "Didn't she even deliver dear cousin George in the stables, or some such thing?"

Violet cleared her throat. "Well, not literally, but I think she stumbled & it prompted an early arrival." She looked over at Mary from the corner of her eye.

"Speaking of new mothers, how's our expectant mother doing today?" Robert stood by Mary and put a loving hand on her shoulder. "Are you feeling alright my dear?"

Mary glanced down at her hands. "Yes, of course, Pa-pa. Thank you for asking." She looked up at Violet and Isobel from under her eyelashes, knowing the conspiracy conversation was not entirely over.


	15. Chapter 15

Downton Cottage Hospital - Six Months Later

Mary awoke to the noise of strange sounds. Distant muffled voices, footsteps in a hallway, and occasional clanking clatters. She felt chilled and blinked her eyes to open them. The last thing she remembered was stopping on the bottom step of cobblestone stairs at the fair outside Downton, reaching for the handrail to balance herself, instinctively cupping a hand over grown midsection. Isobel and Violet caught her and had made all the arrangements.

As her eyes opened everything was blurry. She could make out a figure across the room, but could not see who it was.

"It's alright, my darling, everything is fine. You are safe in the hospital in the village." Matthew's voice was gentle and reassuring.

"Matthew?" Her voice sounded strange and raspy to her ears. She began to panic, trying to sit up. Why was Matthew here? "What's happened? Why are you here? Are you alright?" As she continued to blink her eyes, he came in to view, and his beautiful blue eyes looked back at her. He had beard stubble from not shaving and his uniform looked wrinkled but still tailored.

"Everything's fine," he said softly, his tone comforting. His hand nudged her shoulder to lie back down. "You went in to labor. Clarkson had to perform surgery. I think he called it a caesarean section. Due to the anesthesia you've been sleeping since yesterday afternoon." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Robert sent for me and General Strutt said I could I come straight away. Lucky for me it seems he has a soft spot for new fathers. But I'll have to go back shortly."

Mary's eyes widened. "A caesarean?" Her eyes searched his. "But why?"

He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing tenderly over her brow. "In order to deliver the babies." He clasped her hand in his and bent down and kissed it..

Mary rubbed her eyes groggily with her free hand, then looked back at him, her brows crinkled in question. "Did you say _babies_?" He nodded back at her, a smile filling his face. Mary blinked again. "_Babies_…as in two persons?"

Matthew nodded, excitement and a smile stretching across his face. "Yes, isn't it wonderful darling!" His eyes sparkled like glittering pale blue pools, his joy radiating from his soul. "It seems our little secret turned out to be _two_ tiny secrets!"

"Oh, Lord," Mary exhaled, rolling her head in the pillow and closing her eyes.

"What do you mean? You had two lovely babies!"

She sighed. "So does the common house cat!" Mary huffed and glanced up at the ceiling. "I don't understand. Twins don't run in my family." She was distracted in contemplation

Matthew's smile fell. "My mother's father was a twin." He felt deflated at Mary's lack of delight.

She tutted. "That figures." She looked at him. "And you never felt it important enough to mention that little fact to me?"

"It was an anomaly; the only occurrence of twins that I know of in my family. I suppose we always thought it was a fluke." His heart beat rapidly, both fear and frustration gripping him.

She sighed, annoyed, but the feel of his hands caressing hers was reassuring. "Honestly, Matthew." She shook her head gently.

"Wait here," he said with the delighted voice of a child on Christmas morning. He walked out of the room and within moments returned cradling a small bundle wrapped in white.

Almost instantly Mary could hear the snuffling sounds the baby was making. Any annoyance she previously felt faded away. Matthew set the baby in to her arms and as she looked down, she moved the blanket away and saw the tiny face. "Oh, Matthew…" Love at first sight.

"Yes, I know. She is beautiful, isn't she?"

She looked up at him. "Two girls?"

He shrugged slightly sheepishly. "Afraid so. Now I have three beauties to look after."

Mary looked back at the baby, her smile overtaking her. "Hello little one. I am so happy to finally meet you." She whispered in her soft, new found mother's voice. The baby's tiny, brown eyes peeped open and looked up at her.

A nurse, dressed in light blue and wearing a white cap, entered the room carrying the other bundle. "Good evening, Mrs. Crawely. Would you like to hold the other little angel?"

Mary nodded and shifted the first baby to Matthew as she took the second one. She pushed aside the blanket and looked in to its small pink face. "Identical! They look exactly the same!" She cooed at the second daughter she held.

"I filled out their birth certificates." Matthew spoke gently as he gazed down at his daughter in his arms. "The eldest, whom I have, is Marianne." He smiled smugly. "Did you know it means Little Mary?" He adjusted the baby in his arms. "And the second one, who you're holding, is Millicent."

Mary frowned. "What do you mean you filled out the birth certificates? Without consulting me?"

He looked confused. "Those two names were at the top of your list of girls names. And I know you wanted the children's names to begin with an 'M' like ours. Naturally, I just presumed…"

Mary huffed and adjusted the blanket around the infant in the crook of her arm. "Well, maybe. But honestly, Matthew! With twins perhaps the names might have been something entirely different."

"I'm sorry," he said with an annoyed sigh. "I can have the nurse bring the certificates back and we can re-name them."

Mary's pout softened. She looked down at the baby again and assessed its little features. "Good evening, Marianne." She smiled as the baby gently squirmed in her arms. She looked up at Matthew. "Maybe you're right. Marianne and Millicent will do nicely."

~~00~~

Robert paced in the hallway and shot his stare at his mother. "The whole thing is highly suspicious! Who do they think they're fooling?"

Violet held her purse a little too tightly. "Oh, Robert, please. You are jumping to conclusions! Both Isobel and I were there. I can assure you that Mary, indeed, did stumble. And she was almost immediately thrown in labor. " Violet pressed her mouth in to a firm, thin line, an expert manipulator hoping the story would convince her son.

He rolled his eyes and mumbled to himself. "That whole story about Mary tripping while at the country fair is preposterous! Honestly, Ma-ma. I think both you and Cousin Isobel are in cahoots with all this."

"Cahoots?" Violet breathed the word, her hand on her chest, as though she had been accused of treason. "Watch your tone with me young man. I am your mother!"

Robert stepped in front of her and pointed a finger toward Mary's hospital room. "I am marching on to that room and confronting my son-in-law about this whole affair! For once and for all I want some answers." He turned and walked purposefully toward the doorway.

Violet followed him, her feet and her cane quickly keeping pace. "Robert! For heaven's sake!"

~~00~~

Robert pushed the door open, considerate of his daughter's condition but still using the authority of a general. He was an Earl, after all, and Mary's father and he felt he had a right to the truth. He saw Mary sitting up in bed now, carefully holding one of the bundled babies, and Matthew sat in a chair beside the bed, cradling the other child. He cleared his throat. "I'd like to have a word with you two, if I may?"

Matthew looked up, his face filled with excitement. "Robert! Do come in!" He stood enthusiastically. Walking over to Robert, he cuddled the bundled in his arms. "I feel like I've swallowed a box of fireworks!" He said gushing with joy.

Robert nodded and glanced at Mary and saw her utter delight at her new children; motherhood was now her primary role and one she obviously welcomed. Yet he couldn't help but feel slightly sad as though he had lost his eldest child to a greater cause, one that was more important than her role as his daughter. Did the timeline of things really matter? He stepped softly to the side of her bed and gently brushed his hand over her head. "Are you alright my little one?"

"Yes, yes, of course." She smiled up at him sleepily, pressing her cheek in to his palm. "Isn't it wonderful Pa-pa?" Her brown eyes were filled with warmth and happiness. "Matthew will have to return to the Front soon. Thank goodness you're here to help me with the girls." She reached up and affectionately squeezed his hand.

Matthew walked over to Robert, stopping in front of him again. "You said you had something on your mind?" He asked in earnest, like a son imploring his father.

Robert looked at him and for the first time really saw Matthew. His hair was neatly combed but he noticed the beard stubble and the dark circles around his eyes. His uniform was barely pressed and slightly soiled. His excursion from the trenches was only temporary, a brief pause before he would have to return; offering himself on the battlefield again. Yet, Matthew's expression was nothing short of ecstatic as the baby in his arms suffled against the tunic of his uniform, the tiny life clinging to her father for the first time.

He cocked his head. "Robert? Was there something you wanted to share with Mary and me?"

Violet gripped both hands on the silver knob of her cane. "Yes, Robert. You came barging in here. What was so important you wanted to talk about so urgently?"

Robert reached in to his breast pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief which he touched to his forehead. He cleared his throat again, glanced at his mother sideways, and then back at Matthew. "Um, only that I am so very happy for you and our new beautiful little girls."

Matthew beamed. "They are beauties, aren't they!" He tenderly jostled the bundle in his arms. "They look just like their mother!"

Robert patted his son-in-law's back with affection. "Yes, indeed, dear chap, they do indeed. But let's hope they have your sensibilities." He chuckled and turned to his mother. "Come along Ma-ma, we've interrupted these two long enough. Let's leave our new little family in private."

Violet raised a brow. "But I thought you wanted to hash something…"

Robert cut her off. "No, no. Everything's fine. Let's head home and we'll come back a little later to check in on everyone." Violet gave her son an approving look and followed him out of the room. As they began to walk down the corridor, she started to say something but the sound of footsteps behind them stopped her. She and Robert turned around to find Matthew, his hands now free, quickly following after them.

He panted a little as he caught up. "Robert," he started respectfully. "Are you sure there wasn't something you wanted to discuss?" He knew his father-in-law suspected and he wanted to clear the air; but he had made a promise to Mary that he would never divulge the secret, so he waited for Robert to acknowledge it.

"No, no, Matthew, really, everything's fine." He put a hand on his shoulder.

Matthew read his expression. "You're sure?"

Robert nodded. "Quite." He smiled and meant it. "Everything's fine, really. And I'm so happy for you and Mary, and am delighted about my new grand daughters."

Matthew tried to read him. "I just want you to know how much I love Mary. I have from the moment I met her, and frankly I think she has always felt the same way about me." He shrugged and smiled ruefully. "I suppose at times we have been foolish. But our love has always been genuinely devoted. And now I have two lovely daughters that I adore and will do everything in my power to keep safe and happy."

Robert smiled gently and leaned forward, speaking quietly. "Just remember that you are married to my daughter and everything you are feeling today about your newborn children is exactly how I feel about her. The emotion you feel for your daughters will never go away."

Matthew suddenly realized how Robert felt. He thought about his baby girls and the notion of rushed weddings and secrets and he suddenly felt his heart ache. He understood. "Yes, of course, I completely understand."

Robert let his smile grow empathetically. "Not really, my dear lad, but you're on your way."

As Robert and Violet made their way down the hall, Matthew stood and watched them; he felt grateful for Robert's discretion and love. He glanced down at his hands and realized that they felt empty without the tiny warm body he had been holding.

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**A/N** Thank you for reading everyone! Epilogue to follow later today! :)


	16. Chapter 16

Epilogue

Downton Abbey – 1927

Mary topped the last step of the grand stair case and headed down the east corridor toward the family quarters. As she walked she mulled all the final arrangements in her head before they were to leave on their crossing to New York—last minute packing details and gifts to take to Martha Levinson & the Levinson cousins. The closer she got to their rooms she began to hear the laughter and chatter she already knew would be there, Matthew and the children.

Entering their room, she found Matthew sitting up against the head board in his pajamas and dressing gown, holding open the London Times. As he had always wanted, their children lay around him like puppies. Millicent sat beside him in her pink bathrobe, peering at the newsprint along with him. Despite her dark hair and eyes she was like Matthew in every way-dutiful, affectionate, endearing and shared his love of books. Martin, ten years old and two years younger than the twins, was stretched out along the foot of the bed in his plaid robe and slippers, his blond hair sticking up in spikes. He was engrossed in a brochure for the Cunard White Star luxury liner, Aquitania. The family cat, Cuthbert, was stretching out next to him, yawning and purring.

Marianne, dressed in jodhpurs and a riding shirt, lounged in a wing back chair next to Mary's vanity, one black-booted leg draped over the arm of the chair. "I can't believe you're abandoning us. I don't know why we can't go with you to New York, Father." She huffed. "We never get to go anywhere!"

"We are not abandoning you. We're just taking a trip without you." Matthew spoke while still reading the newspaper. "Besides, what about our family trip to Italy last spring? Was that not going anywhere?"

Marianne's head plopped back on the chair as she sighed dramatically. "I suppose."

Matthew looked up at her, annoyed. "What do you mean you suppose? We were there for three weeks?" He looked back down at the paper and then snapped a crinkly corner of the paper down to glare at her. "And stop calling me Father—it sounds like we hardly know each other, for God's sake!"

"Yes, _Pa-pa."_ Marianne flipped her hair to one side and crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him again. "Well will you at least bring me a fur coat from New York?"

"I will not," he said, his eyes still trained on the Times. "Well bred young ladies do not wear fur coats until they are at least eighteen. So we can talk about it in six years." Millicent stuck her tongue out at her sister. The act caught her father's eye. "Mills, darling," Matthew gently scolded, "Please don't do that."

Millicent looked up her father. "Well she started it!"

Martin's cheerful voice piped up. "Pa-pa, listen to this! The Aquitania was used as a hospital ship during the Great War! Did you know that?" He looked over the brochure at Matthew.

"Yes I did." Matthew smiled. "When I was injured and returned from the Front I was transported home on her."

"Really? How exciting!" Martin was always mesmerized by his father's accounts of the war, which were rare but fascinating.

Mary sat down at her vanity listening to the conversation. "Martin, honestly, your father was horribly injured. I would hardly say it was exciting."

The boy's sapphire eyes softened in regret. "Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I didn't mean anything by it Pa-pa. Truly."

Matthew smiled. "It's alright to be fascinated by such things."

"But still, she must had have been elegant!" Martin was buried in the brochure again. "According to this the same chap who decorated the Paris Ritz also decorated the Aquitania! It must be like a palace!"

Matthew paused and thought about it. "Well, I was unconscious at the time and she was retrofitted for the war, so I'm afraid it wasn't exactly tea and crumpets." Martin giggled and turned his attention back to the booklet.

Marianne twirled a strand of hair around her finger and looked at Mary. "Mother, can't you convince Fath…I mean, Pa-pa, to buy Mills and me fur coats? After all, you're visiting the Astors. It only makes sense."

"I will do no such thing, young lady" Mary said rubbing hand cream through her fingers. "You're Pa-pa is right. It is entirely improper for girls under eighteen to wear fur coats. We'll talk about it when you're older."

"But…"

Mary exhaled and glared at her. "Enough, Marianne!" Cuthbert had hopped down and rubbed in between Mary's feet, purring up against her, sliding his plumed tail around her ankles like a boa. She rolled her eyes and nudged at his fury body with a foot to shoo him away, which only seemed to make him cling to her all the more.

Matthew was always amused by Mary and Marianne's disagreements. It was like watching Mary have an argument with herself. Marianne pouted and swung her leg back and forth. "I still don't know why we can't go with you. I read in Vogue that Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford sail the Aquitania fairly regularly."

Matthew spoke without looking up from the paper. "Good. If we run in to them we'll give them your best."

Mary began brushing her shoulder length hair. "You would be bored to death on the ship. You will have much more fun with Grandma Isobel."

Millicent patted Matthew's arm. "Pa-pa, would you please keep a journal of your adventures so we can all read them together when you come home? You know, all about the museums, the theater, and all the parties you'll be going to! Oh, and don't' forget the zoo!"

He looked in to her earnest brown eyes. She wore her heart on her sleeve which touched him. He was always fascinated by how different the twins were. Mills was sweet and more fragile; Marianne, like her mother, was made of steel which protected her large heart. He loved them both equally and yearned to protect them from their own vulnerabilities. He smiled. "Yes, darling, that's a lovely idea! I'll write a bit every day." He glanced over at Marianne. "What do you say we read the court circular?" He knew it would pique her interest and it did. Marianne found her smile again. He held his hand out to her in invitation. "Don't be such a snob, darling. Come join us!"

Marianne chuckled and pushed herself out of the chair in a dramatic swoop and joined them on the bed, stretching out on the other side of Matthew as he read aloud. She rested her head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her. "I'll miss you, Pa-pa," she whispered up at him quietly, her large brown eyes identical to Mary's. "I'm sorry I was a gnat. I don't need a fur coat; I just don't want you to forget us."

He paused and kissed her forehead. "How could I ever forget something as precious to me as you? Besides, you should be happy—you'll have Carson all to yourself for over a month." She smiled and snuggled against him. Matthew continued reading to the children as Mary finished putting the last few items in her luggage. As she busied herself, she wandered down the hall to the closet where her gowns were kept. She wanted to ensure Anna had set aside the dresses she would be taking. Cuthbert padded along close behind her. She looked down at the adoring feline. "If you snag anything in this closet, cat, I'll have you turned in to a hand muff." Her rebuke was greeted with a loving head-butt to her ankles and more purrs.

When she returned the room had fallen quiet. Matthew, and the children draped around him, had fallen asleep. As Mary stood watching them she felt all was right with the world. She dropped the last scarf in her suit case and yawned. She reached down and begrudgingly rubbed Cuthbert's velvety ears, and then followed him on to the bed, where she curled up with the people she loved most in the world.

* * *

RMS Aquitania – North Atlantic, 340 Nautical Miles from New York Harbor

Mary blinked her eyes open and held a hand up to block the bright morning sunshine. She glanced down and saw that she was still wearing her black beaded evening gown from the night before. Her head was aching and the gentle rolling of the ship wasn't helping matters. She sat up on the side of the bed and put a hand to her head, noticing there was a small pitcher of water and a glass on the nightstand, with a bottle of aspirin tablets.

The door to their stateroom burst open, startling her as Matthew stood in tennis whites. "Well, well, I see you've decided to rejoin the living."

"Mmmmmblmmm…" Mary mumbled as she tried to arrange her hair with her fingers. Between the sun and his white attire, he as too bright to look at. "You don't have to shout—I'm sitting right here."

"You hair looks like a squirrel," he said matter of factly, his voice tinged with amusement. "I hope you're happy. You made a complete spectacle of yourself last night! You had five champagne cocktails and at least three of those French Galois cigarettes. And God only knows what else."

Mary coughed. "Please, Matthew, not now." Her hands padded around the night stand for the water. "I'm sure you are over exaggerating, as usual. Besides, it was a party."

"Oh, really? Let's examine the facts, shall we?" He said as he lifted the pitcher and poured her a glass of water, holding it out to her. "Do you recall throwing yourself at Albert Mumsford most of the evening?"

Mary paused. "The Duke? I seriously doubt I was throwing myself at him."

"No, his grandson, the Viscount, who is also an Army lieutenant just turned out from Sandhurst. The poor lad hovered around you all night and you encouraged him."

Mary patted her hair. "Can I help it if he has good taste? Besides, I'm sure it was harmless and I should think you would be pleased that your wife can still inspire younger men."

Matthew let out a breath. "You are old enough to be his…" Mary shot him a glare so he altered his choice of words. "….his much older sister."

She struggled with the aspirin bottle. "Oh, honestly, Matthew he is a charming young man with a crush and I was just being kind."

He reached for the bottle from her hands and twisted the cap off. "And what about that ridiculous young actor you spent most of the evening with on the dance floor, requesting the orchestra to play the Charleston over and over. If I never hear that wretched tune again it will be too soon." He rubbed his eyes. "What the devil was his name again…..Grant Something."

Mary took an aspirin and a sip of water. "Cary…Cary Grant."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, that's right. Well it's obvious he has no future in film. Pour chap is totally delusional."

"Really? I thought he was quite handsome and charming. I should think he'll do quite well in New York."

Matthew eyed her and slid his hands in to the pockets of his tennis pants. "And that brings me to my favorite part of the evening when you came sashaying off the dance floor, sat in my lap and announced to the entire table that our private activities aboard ship would probably result in a fourth child."

Mary's eye slid shut and she leaned back on the mattress. "Oh, God." She used her fingers to massage her forehead.

"Lieutenant Mumsford turned beet red and the Duke had to take a heart pill. One of the waiters dropped a crystal brandy snifter." He crossed to the other side of the bed and stood above her. "We'll be lucky if Cunard doesn't throw us overboard." He stepped in to the water closet and ran cold water over a wash cloth. He squeezed it and folded it in to a compress and set it on her forehead.

She blinked up at him, her brown bloodshot eyes earnest. "Dear Lord, do you think they really might?"

He didn't and let the corners of his lips turn up in a smile. "Probably not. But they will remember Lady Mary Crawley for years to come. The ship's crew thinks we're deviant and wicked. The purser winked at me this morning."

Mary smiled up at him and put one of her hands in to one of his and spoke suggestively. "And were we last night?"

He laughed. "I hardly think so. I carried you over my shoulder the last twenty feet to the room and poured you in to bed." He sighed. "Call me old fashioned but when I make love to a woman I prefer that she be conscious at the time."

Mary giggled and tugged his hand. "I'm conscious now."

He leaned over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head. "You are a wicked woman, Mrs. Crawley."

"Only with you," she whispered, alluringly.

~~00~~

Matthew strolled the Fist Class deck carrying a crystal whiskey glass and wearing his tuxedo. He saw Mary up ahead, leaning on the railing, looking out over the night sky and moonlit ocean. The breeze teased whips of hair around her face and she wore a red, glittery evening gown and had a white fox stole draped through her arms. She reminded him a film star, but prettier. "Penny for your thoughts" He asked taking a sip of what was now called Scotch, as they were in U.S waters.

"Just admiring how bright the stars are out here on the ocean. And thinking about what if we hadn't been reunited after that first argument when we called the engagement off?"

He shrugged. "Well I suppose we might have met other people and tried to make go of it with someone new." He took a sip of scotch. "But since none of that happened, I guess we'll never know, weill we?"

Mary smiled and traced a finger down over the collar of his dinner jacket. She eyed his drink. "One last drink at sea before we dock in the morning and are greeted by Prohibition?"

He chuckled. "America and her silly abstinence. Thank God we'll only be there ten days."

She leaned up and kissed his cheek. He looked incredibly handsome and smelled good enough to eat. "I was missing the children a little, too."

"I know." He smiled sheepishly. "And Cuthbert?"

She wrinkled her brows. "That fat ball of fur? Don't be silly."

"Admit it—you miss him, too."

She adjusted her stole. "He'd be of more use as a tennis racquet."

"Oh, really? And who puts out the water bowl and kibble dish upstairs for him during the winter when the house is so chilly? Sparing him the long, cold trip to the kitchen?" He eyed her. "It isn't me, and we know the children wouldn't do it. And Carson hates cats and would only do it if instructed, which I didn't and I know you haven't."He knew he had her at her own game.

She cleared her throat. "I'm only setting a good example for the children. As far as I'm concerned that little dust ball would be better off as a fur collar."

He kissed her cheek and she smiled, leaning in to his embrace. His body felt warm and safe. She leaned up and placed soft kisses along his jaw to his ear. Her fingers untied his black bow tie and it tumbled open over his shirt. He shivered at the sensation. As her mouth neared his he let her lips nibble his lower lip before covering her mouth with his own, kissing her wantonly. He pulled her up against him and she could feel his desire grow evident between them. In the subdued lighting of the deck, Mary's hand slid down between them and caressed him through his trousers, eliciting a moan from Matthew as he responded to her touch. "God, Mary, I can't get enough of you." He panted. "It must be the salt air."

A soft, deep chuckle purred from her throat. She took the scotch glass out of his hand and set it down and tugged him by his hands and walked backwards, toward a darkened alcove. "Let's be wild and wicked." She whispered.

He glanced around them and looked at her bashfully. "Mary we're on the deck of the ship. Anyone could come along."

She laughed. "We're already a scandal."

In the darkness of the corner alcove, only a sliver of light touched their faces. As he kissed her neck the straps of her gown slipped over her shoulders. His fingers pulled them down, revealing her breasts. His head dipped so he could take one of her nipples, grazing the rosy peak with his teeth until her hand clutched at his head, pulling him tighter against her. Her fingers worked the zipper of his pants, her hand sliding inside and finding him hard and straining. Her breath hitched at the sensation of him in her hand.

Matthew noticed a small set of stairs behind her which appeared to lead to nowhere. He slid his jacket off and tossed it over the middle step and nudged her to sit on it. Mary sat speechless as his hands tenderly lifted the hem of her dress up to her hips. He leaned forward and kissed her, his tongue swirling deeply in to her mouth. She leaned back and shuttered at the feel of the tip of his body at her entrance. They paused and looked at each other in the darkness, the ocean air all around them. As he sunk in to her, her eyes closed at the glorious feel of being filled by him...her husband.

"Did you mean it?" He asked breathlessly.

Mary felt rapturous. "Did I mean what?" She asked with a moan, kissing him again.

He slid out and then back in again at an achingly slow pace, whispering in a strained voice. "That our activities on the ship may result in another baby?"

She smiled at him, her legs going around his hips as he moved inside of her, opening herself to him so he could take her to the depth of her core. "Yes…."

He braced his hands on the step above her, already shaking and losing control. He wanted to tell her he loved her and how much she meant to him, but ecstasy coursed through his body as he moved faster and faster. He was unable to speak but knew that with every thrust, and the sounds of his own eminent release, that she would know the truth in his heart. "I love…" he panted out but couldn't finish as he pounded in to her.

Mary leaned back further, prompting him to lean over her, his body driving them to the brink and back again. She thought about their first time at the Swan, their rushed marriage and the war, and Matthew's injury. They had been lucky. She opened her eyes and looked up at the night sky in time to see a shooting star which streaked across the blackness, a bright burning stroke across the universe. And suddenly she was lost with it all, releasing a muffled cry as he filled her and panted her name in her ear as he lost all control. She knew they would be lucky again.

"I love you," she gasped for both them.

_**Fin!**_

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**A/N **Thank you for reading and for all of your encouragement!

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